


poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking

by AbethClaire



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2239152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbethClaire/pseuds/AbethClaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I couldn't wait for season five, so I wrote it. While Ian and the people he loves try and find a way to deal with his illness, Fiona struggles to rebuild the life she almost let slip away from her and her siblings. Lip looks for distractions, choosing not to deal with he things he can't handle; Debbie deals with the aftermath of her Facebook-scandal; and Carl tries in vain to make a liquored-up Fran proud. Meanwhile, The Alibi could be in trouble, leaving Mickey and Svetlana to find something else for a dozen out of work Russian prostitutes.  Jimmy is back and desperate to see Fiona, but this time he's bringing more danger with him than ever before, caught up in a world he doesn't belong in. Dirty, violent, angry, and full of love, the kids of the Southside are back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Your Ass to the Gallagher’s

It was still snowing in Chicago.

It had been for days. It should have been beautiful, but the snow was like a never-ending blur of grey that blotted everything out, froze everything that was alive. Mickey hated it. It was hard to hear Ian breathing over the sound of the wind rattling the windows.

“Ian. _Ian_. Ian, man. You gotta eat.”

“Still nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Mickey sat on the edge of his bed, gently shaking Ian’s shoulder. It’d been two days since he’d seen Ian get out of bed.

Mandy hovered in the doorway, biting her lip. “We gotta do something.”

“What do you want me to do, shove food down his throat?”

“Well, we've got to do _something_.”

“I’m open to fucking suggestions,” Mickey snapped, standing up and storming past her, out of the room. He walked into the kitchen and opened a beer. Mandy followed him.

“You know what you need to do.”

“Can you fuck off for a minute? I’m thinking.”

A voice spoke up from the sofa in the living room. “For first and last time, I am sure.” Mickey and Mandy both turned to see the back of Svetlana’s head, where she sat feeding the baby.

“Would you shut the fuck up, please?” Mickey barked. “You’re both driving me up the fucking wall.” He turned to leave, heading back to his room, but Mandy caught his arm.

“Call Fiona,” she insisted.

“Hell no. She wants to put him away. He doesn't need that shit. He just needs time.”

Mandy pulled him closer and spoke in a harsh whisper. “He’s been like his almost four days. Last time he even got up was Thursday. We can’t do this by ourselves.”

Mickey pulled his arm free. “You ever hear of things going smooth in those fucking places? You even hear of people coming back all happy and shit? No. They dope people up, suck out all their money, and kick them out as fucked up as ever. No way Ian’s going in there. He might never come out.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Fuck you, it’s not.” He stormed off, beer still in hand, and went back into his room.

“What will he do?” Svetlana asked, standing up and placing the baby gently on her shoulder, patting his back. “Talk him better? Tickle him awake?”

Mandy sighed. “I don’t know, okay?”

“Orange Boy needs medicine,” she said confidently, pacing around the room and bouncing the baby gently. “Maybe he get up, maybe not, but he will always come back to this way. I knew a girl once. She was the same.”

“What happened to her?” Mandy asked tentatively.

Svetlana shrugged. “No clue. They sell her before I find out.” With that, she and the baby swept upstairs.

Mandy stood there in the kitchen for a while, trying to think. She knew Ian needed help; she just had no idea how to give it to him. Fiona did, though. As much as she didn't like Fiona, she decided to call her. For Ian. She walked quietly past Mickey’s room, peering through the half open door as she went. Mickey was lying down beside Ian, who faced the wall. Mickey was saying something, too quiet for Mandy to hear. She left before Mickey could find out she was there.

Her cell phone was on the bedside table. Kenyatta lay, half naked and sprawled out, on her bed. A wave of disgust washed over her, but it passed. It always passed. She grabbed the phone as quietly as she could and headed back out to the living room. Swallowing her pride, she dialed the Gallagher house.

It rang twice.

“Hello?” came a voice on the other end.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Hello?” said the voice again. “Anyone there?”

“Lip?”

A pause. “Yeah. Yeah, this is Lip. Who’s this?”

“I – uh. I need to talk to Fiona.”

Another pause.

“Mandy,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer.

“Hello?” Lip said finally. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, look,” she snapped, feigning impatience, “is Fiona there or not?”

“No, she’s at work. Why do you – it’s Ian isn’t it?”

She sighed. “It’s been two days.”

“Okay. Okay. _Debs_?” he yelled suddenly, away from the phone. “Debbie! You need to stay here tonight and watch Liam. Just for a few hours!” He placed the phone back to his ear. “I’ll be there in ten, okay?”

“Fine.” She hung up and pressed a hand to her forehead. Maybe Kenyatta would sleep through it. Maybe he’d never know Lip was there at all. She crept back into her room, grabbed her coat from the back of a chair, and gently shut the door. He couldn’t be upset if she wasn't even home when Lip was there.

She knocked on Mickey’s door and pushed it all the way open. Mickey was still beside Ian, but he was on his back with an arm flung over his eyes. “What do you want me to do?” he was asking. “Just tell me what you _want_ , Ian. Just tell me and it’s your’s.”

“Mick?”

Mickey sat up. “What?” he barked.

“I’m going out. For a bit. And – uh – Lip is coming over.”

“ _Lip_?”

“Yeah.”

“The fuck you get him for?”

“I was looking for Fiona. She wasn’t home.”

“For once can you mind your own damn business? I don’t need fucking _Lip_.”

Mandy grabbed a crumpled sweatshirt off the ground and flung it at him. “For fuck’s sake Mickey, it’s my business because he’s my fucking friend. And you’re doing a shitty job. So am I. We need help, you’re just too proud to ask for it.”

She said _proud_ to be kind. They both knew she meant _afraid_.

“So just… just fucking talk to Lip,” Mandy snapped. “Maybe he can help. You gotta do what’s best for Ian.”

“Fuck you. I know what’s best for him,” he muttered, wadding up the shirt and half-heartedly tossing it back onto the floor.

“You don’t.”

“And Lip does?”

A new voice, quiet and muffled, came from the other side of the bed. “Lip?”

Mandy and Mickey both turned to look at Ian. He was still curled up in the dirty white blanket, facing the wall, away from them.

“Yeah,” Mickey said quietly. “Yeah, Lip.”

“He’s coming here,” Mandy said. “Lip’s coming.”

Ian nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”

“Ian,” Mickey said excitedly, leaning over and gently shaking his shoulder. “You talkin’ now? How do you feel? You need anything? Hungry?”

But Ian said nothing and stayed completely still.

Mickey ran his hand over his face. “Fine. Great. Get Lip. Get him over here. Fuck me, what the fuck do I know?” He stood up and pushed past Mandy, settling himself with his beer on the living room sofa.

Mandy followed him. “You gunna stay here?”

“What, you think I’m gunna leave?”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot, I’m trying to help.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Huge help, Mandy. Now run away before Lip shows up.”

“Fuck you, I've got shit to do.”

“Okay. Sure.” Mickey took a long drink and stared off into space in front of him. With a huff, Mandy left. She forgot her scarf.

* * *

 

“Not too busy tonight.”

Fiona turned around. Another waitress walked past her, a tray of plates and dirty cutlery balanced careful on her open palm.

“Shitty weather,” Fiona shrugged. “People just want to stay home.” She placed three plastic cups full of cola onto her own tray and pushed through the bar’s swinging door.

“Bet you can’t wait to get home. Did you work another double today?”

“Fourth this week.”

“God, girl. Do you have time to shower?”

“No,” Fiona grinned. “I figure if I get rank enough, people will tip me just to get me away from their tables.”

The other waitress laughed as Fiona left, expertly stepping through the tables and chairs and back to the booths. She was exhausted, really, and her shitty shoes only made her feet hurt even more. Her eyelids were heavy, her tray was heavy, everything always seemed to feel _heavy_.

But she smiled when she walked up to the family at the booth. “Three Cokes,” she said brightly, placing the glasses on the table. There were a middle aged man and woman, both white, and a young Asian girl – the daughter, Fiona assumed.

The woman stroked her pearl necklace and forced a grin at Fiona. “We need a few more minutes to order,” she said apologetically.

“Not a problem. I’ll be back in a few.”

The woman took in Fiona’s tousled hair, frayed hem, and dirty sneakers. “Sure,” she murmured, still clutching her necklace. “That’d be great.”

“We could have gone anywhere, why would you pick this dump?” the man asked the daughter as Fiona walked away. “You can’t still be punishing us, Amanda.”

Fiona just shook her head and went to check on table eight.

* * *

 

A knock, quick but loud, at the front door.

Mickey took his time answering.

“Yo,” Lip said, hands shoved in his pockets and his face half hidden under his hood. “Can I come in?”

Mickey stepped aside, holding the door open.

“Where is he?”

“Bedroom,” Mickey muttered, motioning to the hallway with a nod of his head.

Unzipping his coat, Lip went inside.

Mickey shut the door slowly. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow Lip or not. Did Lip expect him to help? It wasn’t like he had done much in the past few days. The thought weighed on him as he forced himself back into his bedroom.

Lip was already sitting on the bed, cross-legged. His back was to the door as he faced Ian. Ian was lying on his back, looking up at his brother. Mickey hung in the doorway, trying to shake the feeling that he was intruding in his own room.

“…and you can come home,” Lip was saying, quietly.

Ian groaned. “I can’t,” he mumbled, almost under his breath. “You don’t… its… just sit here. I just want to rest.”

“I know. All right. Rest. But then I’m bringing you home. I’ll bring you, Ian, you won’t have to do anything. But I will make you shower.” Even from the door, Mickey could hear the grin in Lip’s voice. “You stink, man,” Lip went on.

Ian smiled. _Smiled_. “Remember that time Fiona locked us out that night? And we fell asleep in the backyard? We stunk.”

Lip chuckled. “Yeah. That was, like, what – three years ago?”

“Probably more.”

“And you tried to climb up into the bedroom window.”

“I would have made it, too. It was slippery because of the dew.”

“It was freezing out, remember?”

“Yeah. And we fell asleep out there. Right in the grass.”

“Slept till noon.”

“We _stunk_.”

Lip laughed. “We were filthy. Fiona wouldn’t let us on the furniture. I’ve probably still got grime under my nails.”

“You were digging. Why were you digging?”

“I don’t know, I was pretty hammered.”

“Fiona made us breakfast.”

“She felt bad.” Lip paused. “She feels bad now, too.”

Ian sighed and turned back over. “I know.”

“It’s a _good_ bad, Ian,” Lip insisted. “Just worried. She wants to make sure you’re all right. She wants to… I don’t know, make you breakfast again. You know?” Lip grabbed Ian’s arm and turned him back over. “We’re going home now. I’ve got Kev’s truck out front. We can drive. It’ll be nothing.”

Ian was quiet for a moment. He stared up at Lip, his eyes still glossed over and vague, but tears formed in the corners by his nose. “ _Sorry_ ,” he whispered.

Lip put his hand on Ian’s forehead. “You should be. It was your fault Fiona locked us out in the first place.”

Ian smiled. Lip helped him sit up. He rubbed his eyes for a while, Lip’s hand on his shoulder.

Mickey left. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to throw Lip out. It was bullshit. Ten minutes and Ian was up and ready to leave – _leave_ – after Mickey had tried so hard for so long. Bullshit.

He waited in the kitchen as Lip half guided Ian to the door. Looking over his shoulder, Lip nodded to Mickey, as if to say goodbye. Mickey clenched his jaw and waited for them to go – he just wanted them to _go_.

Ian didn't bother to say anything.

* * *

 

“Carl… hey, Carl. _Carl_ , wake up.”

“Hmm? Dad?”

“We gotta go. Cops in the park.”

“But I don’t feel…”

“Come on. We’ll head down to The Alibi, see what Kev’s got for us.”

“What time is it?”

“Not even midnight!”

“I don’t feel so…”

“Up, son, up! Come on. Father and son bonding at its finest, isn’t it? Just two men, sitting in the park, surrounded by nature and the stars above them! Now, let’s…. let’s go…. On your feet, that’s a boy!”

“Can’t you just take me home?”

“Home! No Gallagher ever wanted to go home before midnight! Don’t disappoint me, son, I was just starting to have fun!”

“Fine. Okay. Not The Alibi, though. Kev will… Kev… will tell… Fi… _uh-oh_.”

“Oops! Okay. Everyone pukes sometime. Get you some whiskey to get that taste out of your mouth, whaddya say? Look at us, Carl! I always knew you were gunna be the most fun. Me and you, my boy! Me and you.”

* * *

 

It was better than nothing. Really, it wasn’t even that bad. If Patsy’s Pies paid better, Fiona might even like it. But as it was, overdue bills were piling up, rent was due, and there was next to no food in the house. She knew she’d need to find another job, but the prospect of going out there and having to say to people “yes, I’ve been in jail. Oh, just a drug thing. Cocaine, you know how it is,” nauseated her. And it wouldn’t stop snowing.

Sighing, Fiona pulled off her coat as she stepped into the house. It was late, past eleven. She could hear the television on in the living room. “ _Carl_!” she called. “I said bed by ten, you know…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the back of Ian’s head, sitting on the sofa eating out of a bowl, watching some bad cop show. His hair was wet, and the collar of his shirt was damp.

She scanned the rest of the house. Lip was in the kitchen, cleaning dishes. She looked at him, as if to ask if it was okay – if there was some careful, tentative peace she might break if she moved at all. Lip just nodded toward the sofa with a shrug.

Dropping her bag on the floor, she rushed over and sat down beside Ian on the sofa. “Hey,” she said softly, trying to act as naturally as she could.

Ian set down his bowl of pasta and hung his head. “Hey,” he muttered. “I – uh – I’m home.”

She tried not to, but she couldn’t help it. A huge grin spread over her face and she took his face in both her hands, turning it towards her. He smiled. “You’re home,” she whispered. “You’re home.” She ran her hands over his face as if he were a child; she’d done the same thing to Liam so many times it felt completely natural. “I’m really fucking glad. You know how I get to missin’ you.”

Ian nodded, still smiling. It was soft though, and sad; more for Fiona’s benefit then his. She saw through it.

“You know I gotta take you in,” she said seriously. She kept her hands on his face to make sure he looked at her. “You know we’ve got to see a doctor, right?”

Ian just nodded.

“Okay,” Fiona said, nodding along with him. “Okay. We will. We’ll fix this. Me and you. All of us. We’ll get you better. You won’t have to feel like this again, okay?”

Maybe it was because he was exhausted, or maybe because Fiona was holding onto him the way he’d secretly wanted Monica to when he was a kid, but tears welled up in Ian’s eyes. He shut them. Fiona hugged him. Ian didn’t hug her back, but his head fell on the shoulder of her starchy diner uniform.

“Feels like shit, Fiona,” he muttered as she rubbed her hand up and down his back. “Like it wasn’t going to stop feeling like shit, ever. Like I was hollow.”

Fiona nodded, clinging onto him. “I’ll fix it. I’ll get it fixed. It’s over now.”

Lip decided it was best to leave them there. He walked up stairs, biting him tongue. It wasn’t fair of Fiona, he thought, to make promises she couldn’t keep.

* * *

 

Debbie was late for school the next morning. “I need the shower!” she yelled, barrelling out of her room. “I get it ‘cause I’m late and my hair takes longest to….” She stopped when she realized there was no one to fight for it. “Lip?” she asked, pushing the bathroom door open. “Carl?”

She tip-toed to her brothers’ room. Ian was there, sleeping on his bed. She had heard him come home last night. She hugged him and laughed and bounced on the balls of her feet like a kid, but he didn’t do the same. This wasn’t like when he came back from the army – or wherever he was. This scared her.

She looked over at Carl’s bed. He was curled up under a blanket, snoring. “ _Carl_ ,” she hissed. “You’re late! Carl!” She wished Fiona hasn’t picked up such an early shift. She would have made sure Carl was up.

A hand on her shoulder. Debbie turned to see Lip, standing in his pajamas.

“Why isn’t anyone awake?” she asked.

“Don’t have class till two. Figured I’d stay here this morning,” he shrugged. “Ian could use the sleep. And Carl was out late last night, at Sheila’s I guess. He’s sick or something, was up puking last night.”

“Ew,” Debbie shuddered.

Lip laughed, pushing her toward the bathroom. “Hurry up, you’ll miss the bus.”

“It’s okay. I’ll text Matty. He’ll drive me.”

“Who?”

“My friend.”

Lip followed her down the hall. “Who the hell do you know who drives?”

Debbie shrugged. “Matty drives. I need to shower, Lip.”

She shut the door, but Lip stuck his hand in, forcing it half open. “Wait, you mean that guy? That old guy from the hospital? _That’s_ your friend?”

“Yeah. And he’s not _old_.”

“He’s not your friend, Debs.”

She swung the door wide open. “He is so! He was the only one who was nice to me after…”

“After what?”

Debbie sighed, frustrated. “Can you just mind your own business, Lip? Now go away, I need to get ready!”

“I don’t care how _nice_ this guy is, Debbie. He looked older than me, for God’s sake. No one that old can want to –”

“What?” she snapped. “Be my friend? Because I’m such a baby, right? Who would want to hang out with me?”

“That’s not what I said, I just...”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Trust me, Debs. He’s bad news. Remember that old guy on the bus – the one looking at you while he was… you know? Matty’s that kind of bad news, all right?”

Debbie’s face went bright red. “You – you know what, Lip? You can just – just – just fuck off!”

She slammed the door shut with a bang loud enough to make Carl groan in the other room.

“Fuck,” Lip muttered, running his hand over his face. He was shit at this.

Matty did come to pick Debbie up. Lip decided to be reasonable about it. So he stole a bike, took a shortcut to the school, and followed Matty’s car for about a block before cutting in front of him and signalling for him to pull over.

When he finally did, Lip sauntered up to the driver’s side window, lighting a cigarette. “Out,” he said simply.

“I – uh – what?”

“Get out. I wanna chat.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“We’ve met. I’m Debbie’s brother.”

“Oh. Okay. Um – what do you want to chat about? Debbie’s at school.”

“Yeah, I know she’s at school, you moron. Because that’s where children go during the day. Now get out of the fucking car or I’ll take you out.”

Matty slowly undid his seat belt, making sure his phone was safely in his back pocket.

Lip led him over to the sidewalk, and then casually leaned on the car, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Why’d you drive Debbie to school?”

“Um… she asked me to? She was late.”

“Oh, so it was just out of the kindness of your fucking heart?”

Matty looked around, confused. “She’s my friend, why is this such a big deal?”

Lip chuckled softly. “Friend, yeah. How old are you, man?”

“Why does that –”

“Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

“Twenty.”

Lip nodded. “Twenty. She’s thirteen, you know. Twenty year olds aren’t friends with thirteen year olds.”

Matty shrugged. “I am.”

Lip took one last puff of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and rubbing it out with his foot. He thought of Kash and Ian and how fucked up that had been, about sick old Father Pete, and about the pretty blond teacher that had suddenly moved – probably to molest more kids in some other neighbourhood. He was done with it, with all of it. It made his blood boil.

“Do I look fucking stupid, man? You’re some sick dickhead who gets off on little girls. And, see, I have a problem with sick dickheads like that.” Lip pushed himself off the car and pulled himself up to his full height. “So, if I have a problem, that means you have a problem.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Matty said, putting his hands out in front of him and taking a step back. “I don’t know what she told you, okay? But it was her, all her. I told her no. I said we had to be friends – only friends.”

“Told her no?” Lip repeated.

Matty took another step back. “Yeah, yeah – uh. She wanted to – like – be my… whatever, okay? I said friends!”

Lip took a step forward. “You touch her?”

“No! No, God no! We just hung out!”

“Hung out? Hung out where?” “The arcade. My apartment.”

Lip took another step. “Your _apartment_?”

“Don’t hit me,” Matty said with a flinch, “I didn't do anything to her.”

Lip ignored him. “So you’re telling me you took a thirteen year old girl with a crush on you up to your fucking apartment, but you weren't going to do anything? You think I’m fucking stupid?”

Matty tried to take another step back, but hit a rusted chain link fence. He still held his hands up in front of him and hoped Lip couldn’t tell he was starting to shake. “I’m serious. We were friends. She got the wrong idea.”

“How could she not, with you taking her back to your place? What’d you buy her? Clothes? Makeup? Booze?”

“No! Nothing! Okay, maybe pizza. But I ended it!”

“Ended it by driving her to school?”

“She asked!”

Lip took another step and grabbed the front of Matty’s shirt. Matty could smell sweat and nicotine. “You listen to me, pervert. You’re gunna leave her alone, all right? Cause it’s not just me. She’s got two other brothers who would love to beat the crap out of piece of shit like you. And you don’t even wanna think about what our sister will do. So enough. This _friendship_ ends today.”

Lip pushed Matty back with enough force to bounce him off the fence. He walked back to the road and grabbed the bike.

“Wait!” Matty called, straitening himself up. “I can’t just… I can’t.”

“Oh, you sure as fuck can.”

“No, I mean… it’d hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s been through enough shit because of me.”

Lip dropped the bike, walked back over to Matty, and punched him hard in the jaw. Matty crumpled onto the ground, covering his bloody mouth with his hand. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Lip yelled, standing over him.

“F-F-Facebook,” Matty stuttered. “Thought you – you knew.” He spit a wad of blood onto the grass.

“Knew _what_?”

“You don’t know her at all,” Matty suddenly realized, shaking his head.

“Excuse me?”

Matty sat up, his hand still hovering near his mouth. “You don’t. None of you do. She tells me.”

Lip kicked him in the ribs, sending him flying back onto the grass. “Stay the fuck away from my sister!”

“She does so much for you guys,” Matty wheezed. “She does so much, and you treat her like a kid.”

“She _is_ a kid!”

“I know, I know,” he grunted, still lying with the side of his face in the dirt. “But you don’t appreciate her. That’s why she wants to hang out with me. I treat her like an equal.”

Lip ran his hands through his hair, staring up at the sky. “I need to walk away before I fucking kill you. You don’t know shit about Debbie.”

“Neither do you!”

Lip crouched down beside Matty and grabbed the front of his shirt again, pulling him up so he could look him in the eye. “Fuck you. Fuck you and you’re pedophile bullshit sob story. You stay away from her.”

Blood ran down Matty’s chin. “She’ll hate you.”

“You won’t tell her. We never had this chat.” “So I just disappear? It’ll break her heart. I’m, like, her best friend.”

Lip shoved him back onto the ground and stood up. “Then… faze yourself out. Okay? That better? Have we coming to a fucking agreement here? Slowly disappear. But I want you gone – out of her fucking life completely – in a month. Or I come back. With my family.”

Matty was quiet for a moment. “Fine,” he finally muttered. “A month.”

“Good.” Lip took his time lighting another cigarette before kicking Matty again for good measure.

* * *

 

Mickey was sitting on his bed, rolling a joint. Mandy rapped softly on the door. “Go away,” he called.

“I made dinner,” she said, stepping in. “Pasta.”

“Great. Don’t care.”

“And I got paid. I can chip in that extra two hundred we needed.”

“Fine,” he said sharply, picking up his lighter, “thank you.”

Mandy stood there and watched as Mickey flicked his thumb over the lighter two – three – four times. “Piece of fucking shit!” he yelled, throwing it onto the floor.

Mandy sat down beside him, pulling a lighter out of her pocket. She took the joint from him, put it in her mouth, lit it, took a hit, and handed it back. Mickey didn't say anything.

“You heard from Ian?” she asked.

Mickey took his time inhaling before he shook his head.

“Me either.”

They sat there for a minute; the only sound that disturbed the quiet was the baby crying upstairs.

“Texted him,” Mickey finally said. “Like four times. Nothing.”

“He probably just needs some time.”

“Yeah, for what? He doesn’t have two fucking seconds to send a text? Fucking lived here and now he just fucks off?”

“It’s not personal. It’s… I don’t know, chemical.” Mandy sighed. “I’ve been reading about it. Bi-polar disorder and manic depression stuff. Online.”

“I really don’t fucking care.”

“It said that they can get really hyper and don’t sleep much and are easily distracted. When they’re have a – you know – episode, or whatever. They get into drugs and do stupid shit ‘cause their judgement gets all fucked up. Sounded just like Ian.”

“He’s not fucking crazy.”

“I never said he was.”

Mickey stood up suddenly. “What do you want right now? Why are you even here?”

Mandy just sat on the edge of the bed, staring up at him.

“You don’t think I know what’s wrong with him? You think I need you to come in here and tell me everything fucking Wikipedia told you?”

“You _don’t_ know what’s wrong with him.”

“Sure I do.” Mickey took another hit and started pacing up and down the room. The baby was still crying. “Me,” he finally said, very, very quietly. He didn’t look a Mandy as he spoke. “He was great until he got here. Fucking top of the world. And then… then he wasn’t anymore. The only thing that fucking changed was spending time here. With me.”

“You think you made him depressed?”

“Got a better answer, Web MD? Why hasn't he fucking _called_?”

Mandy stood up and grabbed Mickey’s shoulder. “Not because of you. He wasn’t great before, okay? Dancing at the club, all he fucking drugs he was doing, those guys? Come on. He was losing it, but none of us realized. He’s sick, Mickey.”

Mickey shrugged her hand off his shoulder.

“You didn’t make him that way,” she said sternly.

Mickey stared at his feet. “Then why won’t he talk to me?”

Mandy sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“What? Didn’t get that far?” he said, looking back up at her, a shadow of a smile on his face, “Wikipedia page too long for you? Too many big words?”

Mandy punched his arm, playfully. “You’re a douche. Come eat now. And get your ass to the Gallagher’s.”

Mickey’s face fell again. “What?” “You should,” she insisted. “You should see him. Just… say hi. Put your fucking mind at ease, you’ve been acting like a zombie all week.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but he let Mandy lead him out of the room.

* * *

 

Carl did _not_ feel well. He just wanted to lie in bed and never move again, but he was so thirsty he was convinced he would die if he didn’t drink something. He forced himself to sit up, rubbing his eyes.

“Water, toast, Advil.”

“Huh?”

Ian stood beside the bunk bed, holding out a plate of toast, two pills, and bottle of water. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” Carl mumbled. He drank the bottle in one go.

Ian laughed. “Want me to refill that?”

Carl eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Ian’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“Is this, like, part of your crazy? Like when Monica let me drive that car? You don’t have to be crazy-nice.”

Ian laughed, trying not to look hurt. “Jesus, Carl. I’m just helping you out. You’re obviously really hung over. You stink like booze, I could smell it all night. Lucky Lip doesn’t in sleep here anymore. He thought you were just sick.”

“Oh.” Carl stared down at the plate on his lap. “You gunna tell Fiona?”

Ian shrugged and sat back on his bed. “I’ll try not to, but who knows if I’ll go crazy and do it anyway.”

Carl ignored him and took a bite of toast.

“So who were you out with?” Ian asked. “Little Hank? Or that new girlfriend of your’s?”

“None of your business,” Carl snapped. Suddenly, his head shot up and he looked over at Ian. “Lip – is Lip home?”

“No. Left for school like ten minutes ago.”

“Fiona?”

“She’ll be home in about half an hour. Then we’re going out.”

“Out?” Carl asked.

“Clinic,” Ian said simply.

Carl pushed himself up straighter. “So where’s Liam?”

“With V and the babies. Why?”

“It’s just… me and you here?”

Ian sighed. “Carl…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. But listen, okay? You don’t need to worry about –”

Carl rubbed his eyes again. “Can you please be quite for a bit?”

“Fine. But don’t make these late nights a habit or I _will_ tell Fiona.” He stood up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor. “I’m going to take a shower. Sleep it off.”

“Wait!” Carl yelled suddenly. He leapt out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

“You gunna be sick?” Ian called after him. “Carl?” He walked out into the hall. He could hear Carl rummaging around. “Please don’t fucking break anything. What are you doing?”

When Carl came out, he was carrying three razors, a couple of bottles of pills from the cabinet, a pair of sneakers, and a bottle of drain cleaner. He eyed Ian as he walked out of the bathroom. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, pushing past him.

Ian just raised his eyebrows. “Right. Well now I guess I’ll just have to be more creative with the loofa.”

“Piss off,” Carl snapped, dumping everything onto his bed before curling back up under the blanket.

Ian stared at him from the doorway for a while. He tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed right. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it and went to go shower.

* * *

 

“Jack? Jack, get in here.”

“What?”

“You have it?”

“Have what?”

“The _gun_.”

“Oh. Yeah, I have it.”

“Use it, if this goes south.”

“Look, Eve, I don’t think I can actually shoot –”

“Jack, I trust you more than anyone else working for me right now. That’s why I’m sending you. I need you to do this. Sunan’s seen some of my other guys, but he doesn’t know you, he won’t recognize your face. That doesn’t mean he won’t figure it out. This guy is a scumbag, all right? If there’s anyone out there who deserves to be shot, it’s him.”

“Then why not just do it yourself? Why go through all this?”

“Because he’s a connected man. His connections are costing me money. I don’t just want him dead; I want all of them dead.”

“I hope you’re not excepting me to do that. I don’t even like killing spiders.”

“Please, you’d be a horrible assassin. But you’re an excellent salesman. So, five o’clock you meet him at his… establishment. _With_ your gun.”

“Right. Fine.”

“Wait, Jack – are we going by that house again tonight?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk during the entire train ride.

Fiona sat with Liam on her lap, fiddling with his coat or re-tying his shoe. Ian stared out the window.

The waiting room at the doctor’s office was too bright. Fiona, with Liam on her hip, went up to the counter and spoke to the receptionist. Ian sat down and pretended to read a magazine.

“Should be a few minutes,” Fiona said, sitting down.

Ian nodded, flipping another page. Fiona set Liam down, letting him play with the blocks and trains set out for waiting kids. “You nervous?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “Why would I be?”

Fiona shrugged. “Well, we’ll find out for sure now.”

“As if I don’t already know.” Still, Ian stared at the magazine without really seeing it. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fiona sighed. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly in both of her own. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

Ian finally looked over at her. “You didn't have to come with me, you know.”

“I know.”

They sat like that for a while. Ian tried not to think of the recent time he’d spent with Monica. She had been a mess; worse then he’d ever seen her. He had been too, really, he just didn’t know it then. Monica didn’t know it, either. More than anything, thinking about it made him feel guilty. He focused on watching Liam play.

A woman in scrubs walked through the door leading to the other rooms. “Gallagher?”

Fiona jumped up, scooping Liam into her arms. Ian stood slowly and together the three of them walked to the door.

The woman looked down at her chart. “Ian, right? You can go on your own if you want.”

“I’m going with him,” Fiona said quickly. “I’m his guardian.”

“Fi…” Ian sighed.

The woman looked at Fiona sympathetically. “I understand why you want to, but sometimes… with cases like this… it’s best for the doctor to talk with the patient confidentially.”

Fiona looked over at Ian. “Up to you, I guess,” she said quietly.

It wasn’t a hard choice to make.

“It’s fine,” he told the nurse. “I want her to come.”

“Right then,” the nurse said. “Follow me.”

The doctor took ages. “Mr. Gallagher, is it?” she said, looking at her own chart when she finally walked into the room. Ian sat up on a hard bed covered in thin paper.

“Ian, yeah.”

The doctor looked up. “And this is your…?”

“Sister,” Fiona answered. “Fiona Gallagher. And our little brother, Liam.”

“A cutie,” the doctor smiled. She took a seat. “Well, my name is Dr. Oozer. Nice to meet you all. So Ian, I hear you’re having some problems recently.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Dr. Oozer crossed her legs and sat back in her seat. “Can you describe them to me?”

“We already talked to the nurse about it,” Fiona cut it, shifting Liam from one knee to the other.

“Bear with me,” the doctor said. “When did these symptoms begin?”

Ian shrugged. “Hard to say. I mean… I guess trying to fly that helicopter should have been a red flag.”

Fiona sat up straighter. “You did _what_?”

“It’s fine,” Ian said dismissively. “I took care of it.”

Dr. Oozer scrutinized them both for a bit. “So, you’ve been engaging in risk taking behaviour? More so then usual?”

Ian shrugged again. “I guess I was, yeah.”

“And what else?”

Ian cast a sidelong glance at Fiona, as all of the time he'd spent working at the club ran through his head. “I... I guess I...”

Fiona leaned closer to him. “I can leave, if you want,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter to me, Ian, whatever you did. I just want you better. But I can leave.”

Ian shook his head. “Stay.” He felt like a little kid; he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but settled for clasping his own in his lap. “Just stay.”

Fiona nodded.

Dr. Oozer made some marks on her chart. “Okay. So, you’re behaviour has been out of the ordinary. We’ll leave it at that for now. What about sleep patterns?”

Ian thought for a minute. “It’s pretty much back to normal but for a few weeks I barely slept at all.”

“And then we couldn't get him out of bed for anything,” Fiona added. “He slept for days. Barely ate a thing. Like he was in a coma or something.”

Dr. Oozer nodded, still writing. “And your moods during these times?”

“Pretty self-explanatory,” Ian said sarcastically. Fiona shot him a look. He heaved a sigh. “Fine. When I was up all the time, I felt great. I had loads of energy; I was going on runs and to the gym and out with friends. I felt like I was thinking clearly for the first time - I had all these ideas. Great ideas, I thought. But then... then that just stopped. And I felt like shit. Sorry,” he added quickly, “I felt really bad. Hated myself. Hated everyone. I just wanted to be alone.”

Again, Dr. Oozer nodded. “This seems pretty cut and dry to me. And I see here your mother is bipolar?”

Ian lowered his head and nodded. Fiona shifted Liam on her lap and answered, “yes.”

“All right. I’m going to refer you to a psychiatrist. He’s great,” she said, scribbling a name on a piece of paper. “His name is Dr. Cho and he’s got a very high success rate with cases like this. Most likely, he’ll prescribe some medication.”

“Lithium?” Ian asked, taking the piece of paper from her.

“Most likely. Now, most people are concerned about taking psychiatric medication. I want you to know that, even though it may take a while to balance your medication and get it right for you, you can still live a normal, happy, full life on them. You won’t be dulled or changed in any way.”

Ian swallowed and nodded, trying to force everything Monica had ever said about her meds out of his mind.

“But there’s more than just medication,” the doctor went on, leaning back in her seat. “It’s the little things. Cutting out food that’s high in sugar, less caffeine, taking your vitamins. A healthy lifestyle is important.”

Ian nodded wearily.

“A good night’s sleep and exercise can also improve moods. I know you’re young, but trust me, sleep is important. A missed night’s sleep can trigger a mood swing. Take care of yourself.”

Fiona nodded along, drinking up every word Dr. Oozer was saying.

“And it’s great that you’ve got a supportive sister,” the doctor added. “Not everyone is so lucky.”

Fiona shrugged. “There are six of us. We’ve seen what this can do if you don’t treat it. But that won’t happen,” she said slowly, patting Ian’s knee. “Not this time. We won’t let it, I promise.”

Dr. Oozer smiled. “Great. Isn’t that great, Ian?”

Ian forced a smile and nodded. But feeling like being yet another weight on his family’s shoulders felt anything but great.

“So,” the doctor said, leaning forward. “Last question. How are you feeling now?”

“Now?” Ian repeated stupidly.

“Yes. Any thoughts of self-loathing? Guilt? Worthlessness? Do you feel over-stimulated? Impulsive? Have all your ideas come rushing back?”

Ian thought for a minute. “I don’t know... I feel pretty normal, I guess. When... when do you think it’s gunna happen again? When will I, like... go crazy?”

Dr. Oozer shook her head. “Ian, you are not crazy. All right? Trust me on that. My ex-husband? He was crazy. Not you. But,” she added with a sigh, “it’s hard to say when another episode will hit. Do me a favour - keep a journal of your moods.”

“Journal?” Ian said, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah. Just about how you felt during the day. Nothing too complicated. Look for patterns, look for changes. And you,” she added, turning to Fiona, “keep an eye on that too. If things start to look bad, call Dr. Cho right away. Otherwise, he should be able to see you in a few weeks.”

Fiona nodded and the doctor stood up. “Right,” she said. “Thank you.” She placed Liam on the floor and shook Dr. Oozer’s hand.

“It was nice meeting you, Gallagher family,” she said as they began to file out. Fiona smiled and waved, but turned to Ian and snorted. “When have we ever heard _that_?”


	2. If It’s About You, It’s About Me

Lip’s backpack broke two days ago. He figured he’d just swipe the next one he saw laying around the library, but until then he was suck carrying his books. They were fucking heavy. He walked out of calculus and onto the snowy campus, trying to balance his pencil and calculator on top of his books. It was harder than it looked.

“Hey! Lip, _Lip_!”

He turned around.

Jimmy was jogging to catch up with him.

It took Lip a second to register exactly what he was seeing. _Jimmy_ was jogging to catch up with him.

“What… what the fuck?” Lip asked, looking around suspiciously. His heart had jumped to his throat. “Is this for real? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too! Do you know how long it took me to track you down? Some asshole told me you joined the _army_ , can you believe that?” Jimmy was smiling. Lip wasn’t.

“Answer my fucking question,” Lip demanded.

Jimmy looked around campus, nodding. “Chicago Polytechnic. Very nice, man. Knew you had it in you.”

“Can you… what the fuck?” Lip took a step back. After the initial shock, anger boiled up inside him and he knew the only thing that kept him from taking a swing were the books in his hands.

“Look, is there somewhere we can go and talk?” Jimmy asked, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of an expensive leather jacket.

“No! No, we can’t go _talk_.” Lip turned and started walked toward the Technology Building. He had class in fifteen minutes.

 Jimmy followed him. “I know you’re probably pissed off at me, but I came to explain.”

“You don’t need to explain to _me_.”

“I know, I know. But I didn’t want to just show up at your house. And Fiona changed her number. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“She sold her phone. Why don’t you try fucking off for good and finally leaving us alone? Seems like a solid plan to me.”

“Yeah well, tried that. Can’t seem to stay away,” Jimmy grinned.

Lip stopped in the middle of the walkway and turned to face Jimmy. “You think this is a joke? I’m telling you to fuck off. We don’t need you. We don’t _want_ you. _Go away_.”

“Look, I get it…”

“No!” Lip yelled suddenly, “you don’t _get it_.” Two girls hurried to walk past, eyeing them curiously. Jimmy nodded politely, but Lip ignored them. “We have a _seriously_ shitty past few months. The last fucking thing we need is you worming back into our lives. So do us all a favour and fuck off, like you always do.”

Lip took off again, shifting the books in his arms.

“Wait!”

“Why don’t you go home to your _wife_?” Lip called over his shoulder.

“I can’t!” Jimmy called, jogging to catch up.

"Sure you can!”

Jimmy stopped. “Estefania’s dead, Lip.”

Lip stopped, too. He turned around again. “What?”

“She’s dead.”

“What…? H-how?”

Jimmy ran his hands through his hair. It was longer than Lip remembered. His face was scruffy and there were bags under his eyes. “She was murdered.”

“ _Murdered_?” Lip repeated. “Jesus, who would… who would want to kill her?”

“Someone her dad pissed off. You see? You see the place I was in? How hard it was for me to get out?”

“No. I don’t see.” Lip started walking again, quickly. He was thinking about Estefania, about how beautiful she had been; about the night she had shown up at their house covered in bruises and how he had slept next to her on the cramped sofa. She didn’t want anything but comfort; she just didn’t know how to ask for it. They slept there that night, like children, with her arm wrapped tightly around him. But Lip pushed the thought out of his mind. It didn’t matter now; it didn’t even matter then, he told himself.

Jimmy followed. “I didn’t have a choice! This wasn’t my fault, all right? I can’t hear out of my left ear because they pushed a fucking screwdriver through my eardrum! I’m missing a _toe_! But I’m back to make things right. I’ve gotta make things right with Fiona. Will you just tell her –”

“No, I won’t tell her anything! What am I, your fucking messenger?”

What do you want me to do, write a letter? She wouldn’t read it!”

“Exactly. Take a hint.”

“I _need_ to talk to her.”

“I really don’t give a shit what you need.”

Jimmy grabbed Lip’s arm and forced him to stop walking. “I’m back now. You have no idea how hard it was for me to get back here, but I did it. For Fiona. For all of you!”

Lip laughed. “All of us?”

“Yeah.”

Lip shook his head, amazed at how dense one guy could be. “Do you know,” he said seriously, finally looking Jimmy in the eye, “that Liam called you ‘daddy’?”

“Only, like, once or twice.”

“No. All the time. After you left, he would ask where ‘daddy’ was. And Debbie. Debbie would sit staring out the front window for _hours_ looking for any cars she didn’t recognize.”

Jimmy sighed and stared down at his feet. “I’m sorry, really.”

“And Carl, too. He pretended like he didn’t even notice you were gone, but every damn sentence out of his mouth started with ‘Jimmy used to do this’ or ‘Jimmy used to say that’. But they had to add you to the long list of people who’ve fucked off from their lives.”

“Lip, please, let me…”

“And what about me?” Lip continued, getting louder as he went on. “We were friends, right? Sure, we weren’t fucking, but it still makes you an asshole for leaving without saying anything.”

“I didn’t have…”

“And how about who you _were_ fucking?” Lip raged on. “What about my _sister_?” He laughed suddenly. “You know what? She was fine. The best out of all of us, really. She’s used to it, people committing to things and then disappearing.”

“So she’s okay?”

“Of course she’s okay,” Lip snapped. He started walking again, with Jimmy following half a step behind him. “She knows how to land on her feet.”

“I know,” Jimmy sighed. “I’m not giving up on her, Lip. Will you just tell her I’m in town? Give her my number?”

Lip had to laugh. “No. No, not a chance.”

* * *

Fiona smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “Aw, Debs, you look so pretty!”

Debbie gave her a weak smile back as she walked into her room. “Thanks.”

Fiona followed her. Posters of boy bands hung of the wall and a pair of high heels sat by the closet. “So, when’s the big dance?”

“At eight. I’m leaving in half an hour.” Debbie sat down and stared into her mirror. Her lips were glossy pink and her eyeliner was winged out just like Holly’s always was. She curled her hair around her finger.

“Excited?” Fiona asked, placing her hands on Debbie’s shoulders and leaning down to look into the mirror with her. “It’s a big deal.”

“Not really.”

“It is! And you look so great. You’ll be the prettiest girl there.”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Fiona.”

Fiona stood up straight and put her hands on her hips. “What? You will be.”

“You don’t have to be extra nice just because I’m going to a dance.”

“I’m not being extra nice,” she insisted. “I’m always this warm and charming.”

Debbie had to smile. “Sure.”

Fiona smoothed out a piece of Debbie’s long red hair.

“Don’t!” Debbie cried. “It took ages to get that to curl!”

Fiona dropped the hair and put her hands up. “Sorry! Sorry! But, it’s not really curly anymore.”

“Ugh! I tried so hard! Our crappy curling iron won’t work!”

“I can help, if you want. I use it all the time; you just need to get the hang it.”

“No thanks,” Debbie snapped, irritated, trying to re-curl her hair around her fingers again. “I can do it myself.”

Fiona sighed. “I know, Debs. Just checking. I’ll leave you be. Just… say bye before you go.” She turned to leave.

Debbie watched her sister’s reflection in the mirror and she headed for the door. She bit her lip. “Fiona?”

 “Yeah?”

“Uh – it’s kinda hard for me to reach the back of my head. Do you think you could help me after all?”

Fiona smiled. “Sure. Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do they call you Frank the Plank?”

Carl walked beside Frank, who drank out of a bottle of rum wrapped in a paper bag. He looked old and thin, his face grey and gaunt. He shuffled slowly down the sidewalk, but faster, Carl told himself, then he was shuffling last week.

“Old nickname,” Frank replied. “I think Kev came up with it. Once, I passed out at The Alibi and they laid me down on two barstools. I guess I was like that all night, lying there, still as a dead man, on my back. Kev said a couple of the guys played an entire game of poker on my belly.”

Carl laughed. Frank passed him the bottle.

“Said I was just like a plank of wood.”

“Why didn’t they just play on the bar?”

“Kermit wanted to hide his cards in my pockets. Hey, you wanna head back to Sheila’s? She should be asleep by now. We can watch that old horror movie I found and raid her fridge.”

“What about Sammi?”

“Ah,” Frank spluttered. “She’s in her trailer outside. And even if she’s not, she won’t bug us. At least she knows how important it is for us to bond as father and son. Pass me that bottle, I’m thirsty.”

“I think I should go home.”

“Why?” Frank cried. “The night is young!”

“Fiona and Lip think I’m at a sleepover, but Ian… I think he knows we hang out.”

“And what? You think he’s gunna tell on you and get you in trouble?”

Carl just shrugged and focused on walking in as straight a line as possible.

“Well, let me tell you something. Is Fiona your mother? No. And Lip, is he your dad? No! I am. And if I say it’s all right for you to come over and have a drink with your father, like men, then damn it, it is!”

Maybe it was because he had drank so much, but Carl seemed to think this all made perfect sense.

* * *

Veronica was a good mother. She just didn’t always feel like it. She was always exhausted, which meant she was always cranky, which meant she was always yelling something at someone – usually Kev. But there were certain, rare times like this when she felt like she just might be able to do it.

Kev was at the bar, the girls were finally both sleeping, and Fiona was sitting at her kitchen table with Liam on her lap. The house was a disaster, her shirt was stained with milk and spit-up, and she hadn’t had anything to eat besides toaster waffles since yesterday. But she made it through another day, with everyone safe and healthy and with all their limbs intact. It felt like a win.

“Thanks again for watching him tonight,” Fiona was saying, bouncing Liam on her knee.

“No problem,” Veronica said with a wave of her hand. She set a cup of coffee in front of Fiona. “He’s quiet. Practically watches himself.”

Fiona smiled, but Veronica saw through it. “So, how’s Ian?”

“Doctor said we were right. Bipolar. I thought… I thought maybe we were wrong… I wanted us to be wrong, but…”

Veronica put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to be able to take care of him. I mean, I don’t have a great track record.”

“Are you kidding? Compared you, the rest of us look like lazy, negligent, abusive assholes.”

“No with _this_ ,” Fiona sighed, taking a sip of coffee.

“Listen to me. Monica was not your responsibility. Crazy bitch didn’t _want_ to get better. Ian does, right? And you’ll be there to help him. We all will.”

“Thanks, V.”

“I’m serious. I know it feels like the end of the world, but it’s not. He’ll get through this. He’s a tough kid.”

“It’s just… I mean, all the signs were right there in front of me. He was so energetic, he never slept, and he was _so_ talkative… when was _Ian_ ever _talkative_? But I didn’t see it. Didn’t want to.”

“Fi…”

“What else am I missing?” she went on, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “What else is right in front of me that I’m not seeing?” She kept bouncing Liam on her knee.

Veronica sighed. “Listen to me.” She grabbed Fiona’s hand. “You can’t be inside those kids’ heads. You aren’t going to know everything about what they do or how they feel… and that’s not your job. You’re doing your job, and you’re doing it better than anyone could. Those kids are safe and healthy and have food on the table and a roof over their head. That was all you. _All you_. Of course things are going to go wrong.” She glanced quickly at Liam, who stuck his fingers in his mouth. Veronica smiled at him. “Of course things are going to go wrong,” she repeated, “but you’re always there to pick up the pieces. To build everything back up. That’s what counts.”

“I hope so,” Fiona said, forcing a laugh.

“Look, why don’t you come over tomorrow night? We can have a night in. After the girls are down we can drink wine and watch the History Channel.”

Fiona laughed, a real laugh this time. “Sounds fun, but I got N.A.”

“Day after tomorrow?”

“Taking Liam to the clinic before my shift. Working a midnight.”

“Jeez, Fi. You ever sleep?”

“No time for sleep!” she cried bracingly. She stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, V, but I gotta get going. I haven’t done laundry in weeks and I need to make lunches for tomorrow and budget for next week before work.”

“You need a break.”

“What I need is a second job.”

Veronica followed Fiona to the door. She held Liam while Fiona pulled her boots on. “Another job? They’ve got you working like crazy at that diner.”

“Yeah, well, Jessica’s back now that she’s had her baby and they just hired this new girl… don’t know how many shifts are gunna be up for grabs anymore. Gotta catch up on old bills. Plus, Ian’s meds are gunna be costly.”

“He can’t pay for them? Thought he had a job.”

“At some bar. But he’s gunna need help. That shit’s expensive, we’re not covered. Plus, we’re gunna be losing what he contributes when he pays for his meds. Squirrel fund’s nearly empty and…”

Veronica grabbed Fiona’s shoulder. “Relax. Go home. And take a shower. Ten minutes, no thinking.”

Fiona kissed Veronica on the cheek, then Liam’s forehead. “Wish I could,” she said as she left.

 

* * *

 

 “Ready?”

Debbie took a deep breath. “Ready.”

 Matty stepped out of the car and ran around to the other side, opening Debbie’s door for her. She stepped out and looked around the school parking lot nervously. Other kids were getting out of cars, dressed in tight, shiny clothes and sparkly heals. Debbie tugged at her green dress. It has been Veronica’s, so she had had to take in the top part and add some length to the skirt. At home, she had thought she looked all right. Now she felt stupid.

“Come on,” Matty said, holding out his hand. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll have fun.”

Debbie nodded and took his hand. The past few days of school had been awful. Kids whispered behind her back, pointed her out to the friends, and called out to her in the hallways. At least she could still sit with Holly and Elsie at lunch – they both thought the whole thing was hilarious. “Everyone’s tits are on the internet,” Holly had said with a shrug. “Next time, you should make people pay to see them.”

The dance was in the cafeteria. They stopped in front of the doors, where two teachers sat behind a table, stamping everyone’s hands. Debbie got her hand stamped. But one of the teachers, Mr. Pender, looked at Matty suspiciously. “Student card,” she said curtly.

“What?” said Matty. “My card?”

“Yes. Some ID.”

Matty pulled his wallet out of his pants and fished through it. A couple of seniors got their stamps and went inside ahead of them. “I didn’t think I’d need it…” Matty mumbled, still looking.

“I need to see a valid high school student ID,” Mr. Pender said sternly.

Matty’s head shot up. “High school?”

“Yes. This dance is for high school students only.”

Debbie took a step forward. “But Ashley Plante brought her boyfriend from Lake View!”

“Yes,” Mr. Pender went on, “a high school. It doesn’t have to be this one, but everyone at the dance must be a secondary school student.”

“But I am a student,” Matty said desperately. “Just… just not… not high school.”

Debbie rolled her eyes. Of course he wasn’t smart enough to just _lie_.

“Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Mr. Pender said. The teacher beside him nodded her agreement.

“Leave?” Debbie repeated. “He can’t! He’s my date!”

Mr. Pender looked at Matty with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re friends,” Matty said quickly.

“Please, Mr. Pender,” Debbie pleaded, “just this once.”

“I’m sorry, Debora,” he said gently. “But rules are rules. And they’re in place for a reason.” He turned back to Matty. “What do you want at a high school dance? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Better things?” Debbie repeated. “He’s my friend! We just want to… to have fun!” Panic started rising in her – she had to go to the dance or they would all think she was avoiding everyone, but she couldn’t very well go in there _alone_.

Mr. Pender shook his head. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he told Matty.

Matty hung his head and stuck his wallet back in his pocket. “Come on, Debbie,” he sighed. “I’ll take you out for ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream? I don’t want ice cream! I’ll be even more of a laughing stock if I don’t go in!” She looked over at the teachers, sighed exasperatedly, and grabbed Matty’s hand, dragging him down the hall. “We have to find a way to get you in there,” she whispered. “I can check if the bathroom window opens. Or maybe we can find someone with an ID that looks like you!”

“Debbie, no!”

“Please!”

“I’ll get in trouble!”

  “You won’t.  No one ever checks who’s in there. I heard last year Steven McHugh brought enough whiskey to get half the dance hammered. They busted up the sound system and one girl twisted her ankle so bad they thought it was broken and called an ambulance.”

“No, I can’t! Look,” Matty sighed. “Maybe… maybe that teacher is right. Maybe I shouldn’t go in.”

Debbie folded her arms over her chest. “So, you’re just going to leave me here?”

“We’ll go together. We can do something else.”

“But you promised to take me to the dance! You know this is important to me!”

“But Debbie,” Matty insisted, “maybe… maybe it is weird. Maybe… the people who have a problem with us hanging out have a point.” The memory of her brother kicking him in the ribs made it easy for him to talk like this, even though he could see how much it hurt her.

“What point?”

“That I’m… that it’s weird that we’re always hanging out. Because you’re so… you know… young.”

Debbie stared at him a moment. He didn’t look back; he was still staring at his feet, kicking a crumpled up wade of paper with the toe of his shoe. She knew then that he wasn’t going to get into the dance, he wasn’t going to try even though it meant so much to her. It made her angry, but more than anything it disappointed her. People were always disappointing her.

“Fine,” she said finally. “You don’t have to go in.”

“Great. So, pizza?”

“No thanks. I’m going to the dance.”

Matty looked confused. “But… but I thought…”

“Mr. Pender said _you_ couldn’t get in, not me.” She held the back of her hand up, showing him her stamp. “It’s my first high school dance. I’m not going to miss it. Even if everyone in there is a jerk.”

“But…”

“You can pick me up at ten,” she said. With that, she marched back to the cafeteria and pushed through the doors.

* * *

Miles away, Frank pushed through the doors of The Alibi. His frayed grey cap was pulled all the way down to his eyebrows and he hugged his jacket to him.

Kev looked up from behind the bar. “Frank!” he cried. “Good to see yah. How’ve you been?”

Frank grabbed and stool at the bar. “Cold,” he said flatly. “Freezing out there.”

“I mean about the surgery. I heard it went well.”

Frank shrugged. “It’ll take more than a bum liver to get rid of Frank Gallagher.”

Kev laughed. “Sure it will. Hey, where’s Carl? I saw you two together earlier.”

“Said he had something to do,” Frank said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Wanted to look for some kid. Brenda, I think.”

“Ah, the little girlfriend,” Kev nodded.

“Whatever. Can’t even be bothered to spend a whole night with his old man. Ungrateful, just like the rest of them.”

Kate walked by, eight glasses held expertly in her hands. “First you gotta give them something to be grateful for,” she said with a grin.

“They should be grateful that I made it through my medical trauma,” Frank spat.

“I’m sure they are,” said Kev. “I am.”

“Funny way of showing it. What’s a man gotta do to get a drink around here?”

“Drink?” Kev repeated.

Kate raised her eyebrow.

“Drink, yes, drink! Shot of whiskey and an Old Style.”

Kate and Kev exchanged glances. Kev looked back to Frank. “I’m sorry man, but I’m not serving you.”

“Come again?”

Kev shrugged. “I can’t, Frank, come on!”

“Why the hell not?”

“You just got a liver!”

“Exactly. Good as new.”

Kate stepped forward and leaned over the bar. “You can’t ruin this one, Frank.”

“Ah, shut up,” he spluttered. “After all I’ve been through, this is what I get? Lectures?”

Kate stepped back. “Jeez, you already reek of booze.”

“Frank!” Kev shouted. “You can’t keep doing shit like that! You wanna get sick again?”

“It’ll take years before this liver can’t take anymore – I’ll be dead long before it catches up with me. I’m fine. Get me a drink.”

Kev shook his head. “No, Frank.”

“Come on!” he cried, slapping his hands down on the bar like a child.

“You’ve already had enough,” Kev said sternly. Then a thought struck him. “Jesus, were you drinking when Carl was with you?”

“What me and my son –”

“You can’t do that to the kid! He was really fucking worried about you, you know.”

“… is none of your goddamned business,” Frank finished.

“You gotta go, Frank.”

Frank looked up, confused. “Go?”

“ _Go_ ,” Kev repeated forcefully. “I’m not gunna serve you. You have to leave.”

It seemed to take a second for this to register with Frank. Of all the times he had some to The Alibi Room, of all of the things he had broken and stole and ruined – _now_ he was being thrown out?

“Come on, Kevin,” he said. “We’re friends. It’s back to old times now.”

Kev shook his head. “It was one thing when I thought you were gunna die. But I’m not gunna watch you kill yourself – again.”

“It’s none of your business what I do with my –”

“Someone died to give you that liver!” Kev shouted. A few of the other people in the bar turned to look. “Someone died and you got their liver – not someone else, someone who might deserve it more – _you_ did. You can’t just waste it!”

Frank stood up and swayed slightly. “You are a terrible business owner. I’m here – ready and willing to pay for what you sell – and you’re kicking me out!”

“Just go, Frank,” Kev said, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

Frank spat on the floor. “Fine. Fuck you. Fuck this place. No one appreciates me, anyway.”

“Frank! Frank, would you just listen?” Kev called after him.

Frank shot him and Kate the finger. With that, he staggered out the doors and back into the cold. 

* * *

 

Debbie walked into cafeteria all by herself. The room was dark, with pink and green lights dancing around the walls. Streamers and hand-painted banners decorated the place and all of the tables and benches had been cleared out. At the back of the room was a bored-looking DJ sitting on a stool with a laptop balanced on her knees.

Debbie didn’t think about any of that.

She focused on the people, reeking of drugstore perfume and cigarettes and dancing as close as they could to each other in the centre of the room.

She inhaled, steadying herself.

She couldn’t see Holly and Elsie. She had two choices: keep standing in the doorway like an idiot, or head out into the crowd and look for them.

She took a step. Then another. Her legs wobbled slightly in her high heels.

Two boys standing near the wall looked up at her. She saw them whisper to each other, then head her way. She closed her eyes and inhaled again. “It’s gunna be fine,” she whispered to herself. “It’s fine.”

“Hey,” the first boy said over the music. He was tall and skinny and looked greasy and horrible. He stunk like Axe Body Spray and a locker room. His friend wasn’t much better. “You’re Gallagher, right?”

Debbie nodded.

The boy looked her up and down. “So… uh, you wanna ditch this place and go to my car?”

“No. Why would I want to do that?”

The boy’s friend laughed. “Come on, like you don’t want to bone him.”

Debbie crossed her arms. “ _Bone_ him? Why would I want that?”

The first boy shrugged. “Cause you’ll bone anyone. Come on, I already saw the goods,” he said with a wink and a look at her dress. “Why not give me a little piece of the action?”

“No way,” said Debbie, taking a step back. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

The boy laughed. “Sure. And where is he?”

“He… uh…”

“Hey Peter!” the second boy called across the room. He turned back to Debbie. “You know Peter, right? He said he’s in your math class. Said you blew him after third period two days ago.”

“What?” Debbie cried. “No. No, I didn’t! He’s a stupid liar.”

Another boy, Peter, came up to them. “Hey girl,” he grinned.

Debbie tried to push past them. “Leave me alone. I need to find my friends.”

“What friends? Holly Herkimer?” the first boy asked, blocking her way. “She out back giving Jerome Samuels and handjob. The entire school knows you’re her skank in training.”

“Give us another peep at those puppies and we’ll call it even,” said the second boy.

“You’re so gross.” Debbie cursed herself for not bringing her shiv.

“Fine,” the boy said with a shrug. “It’s still all over my newsfeed anyways. But trust me, by the end of the night you’ll be begging for it.”

It only took Debbie another second to figure a way out of the situation. Really, she should have seen it sooner. She turned to the one named Peter. “You know,” she said clearly, “it wasn’t me who gave you a blowjob. Must have been some other girl, but I heard from Andrea Rice in second period that you couldn’t get it up, which is why everyone thinks your gay now.”

“What?” Peter yelled. “That never happened! No one says that!”

Debbie shrugged. “Not a big deal, I have a gay brother. Want me to give you his number?”

The other two boys laughed. “Peter, are you a queer now?”

“Fuck this skank,” Peter yelled.

“I’m tryin’,” said the first boy with a grin.

Debbie put her hands on her hips. “Look, if I was you, I’d quit now. I mean, if I’m such a desperate whore and I won’t even consider touching you with my little finger, what does that say about you?”

“Says you’re a _bitch_ ,” the boy said, squaring his shoulders. High school boys were so easy to offend.

Debbie shrugged again. “Maybe. Also might say that I heard from Lara Holmes that Tony Casden saw you in the locker room. Let’s just say, you’re not really worth my time,” she said, holding her forefinger and thumb a little space apart. “Besides, you stink like the lunch lady’s armpit… on a good day.”

This time she did push past them, making sure she shoved her shoulder into the one called Peter. The boys didn’t move. They didn’t follow her. Instead of looking for Holly or anyone else, she forced her way into the middle of the group of dancers and danced like she used to alone in her room, smiling. 

* * *

 

Carl was the one who answered the door.

Mickey stood on the porch, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot. “Ian here?”

Carl blinked stupidly a few times.

“Jesus kid, did I stutter?”

“Upstairs.”

Mickey pushed his way into the house, kicking off his boots. “You look like shit,” she said flatly. “And you stink.”

“I was out,” Carl said simply, heading back to the couch.

“Out where, digging through a dumpster?”

Carl shrugged. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck were you doing that for?”

“I was looking for something, okay?” Carl snapped. “I said Ian’s upstairs, so just go.” He flopped back into the couch, staring blankly at the TV.

Mickey looked around the living room. “Fiona here? Lip?”

“Fiona’s at work, Lip’s at school, Debbie’s at some dance, and Liam’s with Veronica.”

Mickey nodded to himself, glad he wouldn’t have to explain what he was doing there to anyone else. He stood in the living room for another second, his heart racing. He wished it wasn’t. This was fucking stupid.

“If your gunna just stand there, get me a beer,” Carl said.

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered. He headed for the stairs.

Ian was lying on his bed. He had headphones in and was tapping his chest along with some beat Mickey couldn’t hear. His eyes were closed. He looked so relaxed, so normal. Mickey wasn’t sure what to do. He should never have listened to Mandy; he shouldn’t be here at all.

“Mickey?” Ian sat up quickly, pulling his earphones out.

“Hey,” Mickey mumbled from the doorway.

Ian stared at him for a second. “Hey. What – what are you doing here?”

“Carl let me in,” Mickey answered, feeling stupid. “Just. I’m just. You know. Checking – on you.”

Ian grinned. “Oh. Okay.”

“You seem…”

“Less insane?”

“Better,” Mickey said quickly.

Ian shrugged.

“Your sister, Fiona…” Mickey began, taking a hesitant step into the room, “she said… she said maybe you were, like, bipolar.”

“You talked to Fiona?”

“Yeah. She came to see you. When you were… at my house. Don’t you remember?”

“Sort of.”

Mickey stared at Ian for a minute. “Well, are you?” he finally asked.

Ian lay back down and stared at the ceiling. “Looks like it.”

“Shit. Fuck.”

“Dr. Cho gave me some meds. Gotta… gotta fucking _journal_. My fucking moods.”

“Seriously? Like, a diary?”

“No. But… yeah, basically.”

Mickey laughed. “What, like, ‘dear diary, I really hope the quarterback asks me to the prom…’?”

“More like, ‘dear diary, I didn’t think about killing myself that much today’.”

Mickey’s knees felt weak and his head felt light. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ian.”

“ ‘Dear diary’,” Ian went on, “ ‘couldn’t get out of bed today. Dear diary, slept for two hours last night, but not in a row. Dear diary, I can’t eat anything without feeling sick because I’m so fucking anxious all the time’.”

Mickey took a few long steps toward the bed. “Shut up, fucking stop it.”

Ian looked up at him. “Why are you here, Mickey?”

“I told you,” Mickey said quietly. “I’m just… making sure you’re okay or whatever.”

“I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are.”

Ian stared up at the ceiling again.

Mickey sighed. “Look, you wouldn’t get out of bed for days. You were a fucking mess. And no matter what I fucking did, you just laid there. But then fucking Lip comes along…”

“Enough, Mickey,” Ian sighed, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“…and suddenly you’re laughing and shit, and then you leave. You _left_ me, Ian. For days. I’ve called you three times. I’ve sent, like, twenty texts. What did I fucking do to you?”

Ian uncovered his face. He looked up at Mickey. Only Mickey could look at him like that – could keep his face a blank mask except for the slight twitch in his lip and the horrible pain behind his eyes. It melted him. Ian sat up on the bed. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Well, I fucking must have. Why are you ignoring me?”

Ian sighed heavily. “Look, it’s just… it’s not about you, it’s…”

“Like hell it’s not about me.” Mickey sat down beside Ian. He didn’t take his hand, he didn’t touch his shoulder – he just sat there and stared at him. “If it’s about you, it’s about me.”

Ian wanted to kiss him. To take Mickey’s face in his hands and kiss him forever. To take all the hurt he had caused him and all the guilt he felt and change it back into what they had – almost had. Instead, he stared down at his feet. “I’ve seen bipolar, okay? It’s not pretty. I’ve seen what it does to people.”

“Yeah, but that’s not gunna happen to you.”

“But it might,” Ian said seriously. Now he looked at Mickey, trying to tell him – without telling him –how seriously this was; how scared he was. “You don’t want to be a part of that.”

“A – a part of what?”

“Of _me_ , Jesus, Mickey.” Ian ran his hands through his hair. “I’m doing you a fucking favour.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Can you just relax?”

Ian leaned closer to Mickey. “I saw my mother sitting in a pool of her own blood on Thanksgiving,” he whispered fiercely. “I lived with her in some abandoned crack house and watched her get high on everything she could to make herself feel better – to feel nothing. She didn’t eat. She hardly slept.” Ian shook his head. “It ruined her.”

Mickey grabbed Ian’s wristed, but didn’t take his eyes off from his face. “It’s not gunna ruin you.”

“You don’t know that. No one knows that.”

“ _I_ fucking know that, okay? I won’t let it.”

Ian shook his head. “You can’t just…”

“I _won’t_.”

Ian lowered his eyes. “You said I was a mess. It might not get easier. Might get worse. You don’t… deserve that.”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking deserve.”

Ian flicked his eyes back up. Mickey kissed him suddenly – hard, intently, like he couldn’t help himself anymore. He pushed Ian onto his back and tried covered him with his entire body, to wrap him up and keep him safe – there, with him. Ian let himself sink into the bed, to feel Mickey’s weight on top of him. He inhaled deeply, that scent he had memorized, and pressed his hand to the back of Mickey’s head.

“ _Ian_ ,” Mickey sighed into his mouth. “Ian. Don’t leave again,” he whispered. “Don’t.”

Ian wound his hand through Mickey’s hair. “Okay,” he said, his heart racing, but his body finally relaxed. “Okay.”

“I’m gunna take care of you.”

Ian kissed Mickey’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, wondering how he could have ever been so stupid. “Okay.”


	3. Nothing Like You

“You’re in a better mood,” Kev said, sliding a beer across the bar to Mickey. “Yesterday I thought you were jump over here and shank me.”

“Still might,” said Mickey, raising his eyebrows dangerously. “You know how much money we made upstairs last weekend? Less than six hundred. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? After I pay the girls and fucking _you_ , I got nothing left.”

Kev shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s that damn Thai place. I don’t know how they’re doing it. Hey…” he said suddenly, leaving over the bar, “do you think you could… you know… put them out of business?”

 “ _How_?”

 “You know…” Kev whispered, “just grab your brothers and maybe scare them a little? Shake them up?”

 “Shake them up?” Mickey repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

 “Yeah,” Kev went on, straightening up again. “Or, I don’t know, burn the place down. Or… something. We got families to feed.”

 “Yeah, well...” Mickey sighed. He took a drink. “Not exactly about to call up my brothers right now.”

Kev shook his head disappointedly, but let the conversation drop. He started drying a stack of cracked, cloudy glasses. A man walked into the bar, looking around cautiously. Kev motioned to him with his head. “Customer,” he said to Mickey.

Mickey took another long drink and stood up. “Hey man, you lookin’ for the upstairs?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“This way.”

Mickey took the man upstairs just as Veronica came out from the back of the bar. Amy and Jemma were in their carrier, one on Veronica’s chest, the other on her back. “You gotta change them next,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve done it the past three times.”

“Yeah, but you can smell it quicker, you got ‘em right under your nose.”

“Then you can start carrying them, too.”

Kev leaned down and kissed her. Then he kissed the top of Amy’s head, who was laying on Veronica’s chest. “Sure thing, I would love to carry my girls around with me all day. I’m so much bigger and stronger than your mama,” he cooed, “you’re gunna love it.”

Veronica laughed. “Yeah right, I give it three hours before you’re whining like a baby yourself.”

Another man confidently walked into the bar. “This is the second new client today!” Kev whispered to her excitedly.

“Good,” said Veronica, grabbing a rag and helping Kev dry. “Because we aren’t making nearly enough to send these two to an Ivy League school.”

“We aren’t making enough to send them to preschool,” Kev pointed out.  Veronica just grunted in agreement.

The man walked up to the bar. He was average-looking and thirty-something, in a grey suit and holding a briefcase. Not their usual cliental, but he seemed to sort of guy who’d leave a decent tip.

“What can I get for yah?” Kev asked.

The man looked at Veronica and the twins. “Don’t usually see infants in a bar,” he said dryly.

“Those are my daughters,” Kev said, beaming with pride. “I’m just introducing them to the family business early.” Kev laughed. The man didn’t. “So, uh… what’s  your poison? Or…” Kev leaned over the bar a bit, “are you looking for upstairs?”

“There’s something upstairs?” the man asked.

“Yeah, upstairs… you know… where –”

Veronica elbowed him in the ribs. “Where Stan used to live!” she cried. “His old apartment.”

 “Well, I’m not looking for Stan.” The man set his briefcase on the bar and swung it open, pulling out some papers. “My name is Mr. White and I’m here on behalf of the Board of Health and Safety.”

“The what now?” Kev asked.

“I’m a health inspector,” Mr. White said simply. He placed a paper on a clipboard and clicked his pen open. “Now, do you mind if I have a look around?”

Kev hurried out from behind the bar. “Um, no, no. Not at all. Just – we never had a health inspector come by. Did someone say something? Because, if it was Frank Gallagher, he was just upset with me for not serving him last night.”

Mr. White shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “No, nothing like that. Did you know you have water damage?”

“Uh, no. I’ll get it fixed,” Kev went on anxiously. “But why are you here? Now?”

“I’ll be honest with you…” Mr. White looked down at his clipboard, “…Mr. Ball. The last owner seemed to have… some sort of arrangement with the Board of Health. Now that The Alibi Room is under new management, it will be subject to random health inspections, just like everywhere else. Now, shall we start in the back?”

Just then, Mickey came jogging down the stairs. “Hey Kev! We’re almost out of lube, I need some cash to make a run to…” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the death-stare Veronica was giving him. Then he saw Kev standing next to a man in a suit. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Mr. White turned to Mickey, looking dumbfounded. “…lube?”

“Yeah,” Mickey said quickly. “I – uh - fix up cars and stuff.”

“Cars?”

“Yeah, _cars_ ,” Mickey snapped. “Love ‘em.”

“All right…” said Mr. White, looking again at his clipboard. “Now, I understand there’s a private residence upstairs?”

“…yes,” Kev said slowly, looking from Mickey to Veronica and back again.

“Would I be able to see it?”

“No,” said Mickey quickly. “No way. That’s my apartment now. I don’t want you poking your big nose in my… car stuff.”

“Right. Well, because it’s above an establishment it’s subject to…”

“The fuck it is,” said Mickey, taking a few menacing steps forward. “You’re not allowed up there, it’s mine.”

“But that water damage must have originated –”

“You come back with a warrant or something and we’ll talk. Until then, forget about it,” Mickey said sternly. He glared at Mr. White, who tried – but failed – not to seem intimidated.

“Fine. But,” Mr. White said, turning back to Kev, “it is up to you as the owner to ensure that your business is up to code, which may mean… negotiating with your tenant.” He looked pointedly at Mickey, who went back to his stool at the bar and drank his beer.

“Sure,” said Kev. “No problem. You wanted to see the back? Come on, let’s go.” He led Mr. White out of the bar, staring wide-eyed at Mickey as he did. “ _Do something_ ,” he mouthed silently before he disappeared through the door.

“What the fuck does he want me to do?” Mickey asked, turning to Veronica.

She looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then, she reached under the bar and piled over a dozen pill bottles in front of Mickey. “Stash these somewhere,” she whispered. “But I swear to God, Milkovich, if even one of those pills goes missing I’m going to…”

“What?” Mickey asked with a grin. “Lady with two babies strapped to her? Supposed to scar me?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. “I’ll tell Ian.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said, gathering up the bottles. “You think you’re real funny.”

“Wait!” Veronica cried. She placed a sandwich bag full of weed on top of the pills. “Now hurry, before that asshole comes back out!”

* * *

 

“You and me, peanut! Like old times!” Fiona tapped Liam’s nose with her finger and smiled at him. He sat on her lap as they rode the L to the clinic. He giggled.

Fiona fixed the collar of his coat and tried to get her heart to stop racing. Lip had wanted to come to this appointment, said he’d miss his physics quiz for it. But she’d managed to talk him out of it. They had already been to the pediatric neurologist. This was just a checkup. She’d tell him any news as soon as she knew. He didn’t seem happy about it, but Fiona thought he understood – that this was something she had to do, that she had to fix – to atone for.

Lip was just starting to leave her alone with Liam again. He had forgiven her – he said, anyway – but earning his trust back was going to be an uphill battle. This appointment had to go well.

“You’re gunna be all right,” she whispered. “You’ve been such a good boy lately.” She tried to think of what she would to tell the doctor; Liam seemed to be the same as he’d always been. Good, quiet, playful. But the words _intellectual decline_ and _emotional and behaviour disorders_ kept floating through her mind no matter how hard she fought to beat them back.

“You’re gunna be all right,” she repeated, running her hands over his hair. “You are. Yes you are!” She kissed his cheek and he smiled.

“Fi!” Liam yelled, grabbing a lock of her hair. Fiona smiled and pressed her nose to his. “Fi, Fi, Fi!” 

* * *

 

When Ian knocked on the Milkovich’s front door that afternoon, he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. He knew Mickey was out, but Mickey wasn’t the only one he owed an explanation to.

Mandy answered the door in a long black t-shirt, no pants, and her hair pushed back with a thick purple headband. He thought she might be upset, might demand to know what had been going on, like Mickey had. He wasn’t exactly prepared for how she did react.

“Ian!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “Jesus Christ, it’s good to see you!” She pressed her face into his shoulder and hugged him hard.

He hugged her back, kissing the side of her head, smoothing her hair out with her hand.

When she finally let go, she practically dragged him inside. Then she punched him hard on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you answer my texts, douchebag?”  she asked, with a huge grin still on her face. “I was fucking worried.”

“Sorry,” Ian sighed. “I was a bit of a mess.”

“No kidding.”

“It’s fine now.”

“Is it?” she asked uncertainly.

“Well…”

Mandy shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it now. Mickey’s not here, you know.”

“I know. I came to see you.”

She smiled, and hugged him again, not happy and giddy this time. She laid her head on his chest and held him to her. “I’m glad you’re here,” she breathed. “I worry about you, dickhead. Hey,” she said suddenly, letting go of him and taking a step back, “want to watch that movie I was telling you about a while ago? I don’t have to be at work ‘til six. It’s really good, it’s set in this, like, warehouse and there are all these criminals coming back from a heist gone wrong…”

“Sure,” Ian smiled. “Sounds good.”

Just then, Svetlana walked downstairs and into the kitchen. “You’re back,” she said simply.

“Uh… yeah. Kind of. I guess.”

“How long, this time?”

“Just leave it,” Mandy ordered, grabbing Ian’s hand and dragging him toward the stairs.

“Wait,” Svetlana called. She took a few steps towards them and looked Ian in the eye. “I need Mickey to help. With baby. Yevgeny needs a father.”

Ian wasn’t sure what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

 “You. You can tell him that. He will listen.”

“We can talk about this later,” Mandy said forcefully, glaring at Svetlana. She started to pull Ian up the stairs.

“Later, always later.” Svetlana said, rolling her eyes. “And Orange Boy!” she called up after them.

Ian stopped and turned around. “What?”

“Nice to see you are awake.” 

* * *

 

“That was way to close,” Kev sighed. It was late evening now and the bar was starting to fill up – if you could call ten dirty drunks being ‘filled up’.

Veronica nodded. She sat on a stool in front of the bar, the babies still strapped to her, rubbing Jemma’s back. “I know, that was awful. Can they really go upstairs?”

“No way,” said Mickey, “it’s private fucking property.”

“We don’t exactly have any papers,” Veronica pointed out. “We can’t prove you’re renting it from us.”

“Won’t have to,” Mickey said certainly. “That’s bullshit.”

“I’ll ask Lip.” Kev shook his head as he wiped down the bar with a rag. “But we need to think of some kind of plan. We can’t lose this place. It’s our only income until the girls are old enough to be without you and you can go back to the nursing home,” he told to Veronica.

“I know,” she sighed.

“Yeah well, I can’t exactly afford for you to lose it either,” Mickey added.

“You could just get a real job,” Veronica pointed out.

“Please, I haven’t even graduated high school. I make more doing this then I would flipping fucking burgers. Which I’m not gunna do.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You might have to bite the bullet eventually. This is more of a risk than we thought.”

“No one’s gunna find out,” Mickey insisted.

“Someone might talk to the wrong person,” Veronica shrugged. “Word gets around.”

Just then, Kate walked through the door. She went to the back of the bar and started refilling the glasses of the two men who sat at the other end.

“Hey V,” she said. “You can go now. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Veronica admitted, standing up. One of the babies started to whimper. “Oh damn, I thought she was finally falling asleep.” She went behind the bar quickly, kissed Kev, grabbed her purse, and started to leave. “Figure it out, boys!” she called over her shoulder as she left.

“A shot,” Mickey ordered bluntly.

Kev filled one for Mickey and one for himself. They drank. “You know we have to stop it, right? Shut it down?”

Mickey tapped his knuckles on the bar anxiously. “Yeah. But what the fuck am I supposed to do with my fucking wife now?”

“We can’t keep the business upstairs running. It’s barely making money as it is. Send her someone else’s way. She’ll find work.”

Mickey laughed, darkly. “Dried up whore who just pushed a kid out? I doubt it.”

“She could flip the burgers.”

“No fucking papers. She’s an illegal.”

“Something under the table, then,” Kev suggested.

“Doing what exactly? Manual labour?”

Kev shrugged. “Not that far from what she’s been doing already.”

“Yeah? And what about all those other girls? They just lose their jobs because we can’t keep one fucking guy out of the way?”

“It’s not one fucking guy, Mickey!” Kev said seriously. He poured them both another drink. “I don’t know what sort of mafia-set up Stan had, but I don’t have those connections, all right? We could do hard time for this.”

Mickey shifted in his seat and downed his drink. “Fine. But we gotta figure out what to do with all these fucking whores. No way they’re coming back to my house.”

“Yeah. I guess we can’t just kick them out with nothing.”

“What do you want to do, give them fucking severance pay?”

“No man, but like… a chance, you know?”

Mickey sighed, nodded, then rapped the bar for another drink. He could think of a couple conversations he wasn’t looking forward to having. 

* * *

 

Sammi had cleaned out Sheila’s basement as soon as Frank came home from the hospital. There were no more creepy clowns or the angsty spray paint of a hormonal teenager – just a bed, two chairs she had found at a garage sale, and an old TV she had probably stolen. It wasn’t a palace, but it was pretty good, Frank thought. Now that they were married, Sheila was cooking for him again. They would sit and talk sometimes, but it was nothing like it was. Frank’s ass was grateful for that. Mostly she just wanted to keep him alive, in case there was some slim chance she might get those Indian kids back.

A few nights a week, Carl would come over. He was the only one of his kids who bothered with him anymore. (There was Sammi, of course, but he meant his _real_ kids.) Frank liked when Carl came over. They had fun, did stupid things, told jokes, and most importantly _drank_ – he was less lonely then.

That night, they had some old horror movie on. Frank was drinking Old Style and Carl was drinking cheap vodka right from the bottle.

“So that’s why,” Frank was saying, “I’m not going to The Alibi anymore. Bunch o’ morons. I could drink them under the table any day with this new liver, and they’re pussying out on me.”

Carl shrugged. “I like Kev.”

Frank waved his hand in front of him, brushing away the thought. “Moron, like I said. I’ve been a good friend and – more importantly – a loyal customer for years. Ridiculous. How’s that for capitalism for you? Bunch of liberal bleeding hearts ruining the system. If it was good enough for our forefathers, it’s good enough for me. Right, son?”

“Sure.”

“It’s un-American!”

“Yeah.”

“Anyways,” he went on, “I wouldn’t have even been there if you hadn’t taken off on me. Where did you go again?”

Carl shifted in his seat, staring at some blond girl on the TV get her arm cut off. “I was looking for someone.”

“Oh right. Did you find her?”

Carl took a drink, not even noticing the burn as it went down anymore. “No.”

“Well, who is she?”

“Girl from school.”

“She’s gotta be more than that if she’s important enough for you to ditch your old man for.”

Carl looked over at Frank, stretched out on the bed. He was pale and scruffy and thin, but at least he was alive. “She used to be my girlfriend. At least, I thought she was. But she took off. I can’t find her anywhere.”

Frank shook his head sympathetically. “Women,” he spat. “They’ll do that. Was she pretty?”

Carl nodded.

“That’s the thing. He’s a tip they don’t teach you in health class – the more beautiful a woman, the more heartless she is. Look at – look at – what’s her name? Sheila’s kid?”

Carl furrowed his brow, confused. “Karen?”

“Right! Right, look at Karen. Absolutely beautiful. And what did she do? Broke poor Ian’s heart.”

“Lip’s.”

“Whatever.”

“Bonnie wasn’t like that, though,” Carl insisted. “She was cool. We did stuff together. We had fun.”

“That’s what I thought about your mother,” Frank said simply. Carl ripped at the label on the bottle of vodka nervously. Frank didn’t notice. “Look at how the two of us started – you never saw two people more in love. But that bitch had to go and ruin everything.”

“Frank,” Carl said softly. “Can we just watch the movie?”

Frank didn’t hear him. “Took off, leaving me alone with six kids! I mean, what kind of cruel, heartless monster does that? I’ll tell you – a beautiful woman. You remember that, son.” 

* * *

 

Debbie sat across from Lip in a restaurant she knew they couldn’t afford. She looked around nervously. “I don’t want to dine and dash,” she admitted. “I’ll feel bad, plus I can’t really run in these shoes.”

Lip laughed. “No worries, Debs. I’ve got this.”

“How?”

“Came into a bit of money a while ago.”

“Steal it?” she asked interestedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. Got it the good old fashioned way.”

“So you scammed it?”

“Yeah.”

Debbie grinned. “How?”

“Well,” Lip began, taking another bite of steak, “kinda got it from Amanada.”

Debbie had to laugh. “You know, it’s so weird you’re dating another girl named Amanda.”

Lip rolled his eyes. “Nobody ever called Mandy _Amanda_.”

Debbie just shrugged and took a bite of broccoli. “Still.”

Lip leaned back, trying to not feel annoyed. “I didn’t pick her because of her name, Jesus. It was just a… weird coincidence.”

“Fine, fine. So, you scammed money from your girlfriend?”

“No, jeez, how big of an asshole do you think I am? I scammed it from her parents.”

Debbie raised her eyebrows. “Still sounding like a bit of an asshole here.”

“She helped,” Lip added.

“Oh, okay.”

“Her parents are kind of jerks. Rich jerks, though. I scared them a bit and her dad paid me to stop dating her. We just… never stopped.”

Debbie laughed. “How did you scare them?”

“Oh, I just brought them over for dinner one day.”

Debbie nodded understandingly. “So,” she went on casually, “how much you get?”

“Enough,” Lip said vaguely. “It’s been enough to get us through for a while. Pay some bills that got left out while Fiona was…”

“Away,” Debbie said simply.

“Yeah. While Fiona was away.”

“Shouldn’t we be saving this money?” Debbie asked, looking down at her food. “Fiona’s been freaking out about money lately. I guess she called Cousin Patrick to ask if he’d take $400 a month instead of $500 for rent.”

“Oh yeah? What he say?”

“Hell no.”

“Figures.”

“Seriously, Lip. Can we afford this?”

“Yes,” Lip insisted. “Eat. Enjoy. We’re gunna miss the movie.”

“But Fiona…”

Lip sighed. “I know Fiona is freaking out. But she has to. It’s making her feel better.”

“No it’s not,” Debbie said quickly. “I found her at two in the morning last night, counting quarters on the kitchen table.”

“What were you doing up at two in the morning?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Lip took a sip of his beer. He wasn’t sure he should share everything he thought with Debbie – he didn’t want to worry her. But that was the point of today, he told himself, to start treating her like an equal. Or, at least, not a kid. Maybe then she’d stop trying to date guys almost twice her age. It made Lip feel a little sick to think Debbie was almost as old as Fiona was when Monica left.

“I think,” Lip finally went on, “that Fiona’s trying to work really hard to make things up to us. Not just with happened with Liam, everything. Losing her cup job, not realizing what was happening with Ian sooner, having me take time away from school, disappearing on us… everything,” he shrugged.

“So, freaking out is how she’s going to do it?”

“I guess. She wants to give us a good life, you know? She feels like she fucked that up, so she’s trying to set it right. But it’s hard. So she’s freaking out.”

“She shouldn’t,” Debbie said, poking at her salad. “Our lives are fine.”

“Yeah, well, tell her that sometime. She’d probably like to hear it.”

Debbie nodded.

“Look, Debs, there’s a reason I took you out today.”

Debbie looked up. “Oh my God, did someone die?”

Lip laughed. “No, come on. It’s just… I’m thanking you, okay?”

“Thanking me?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose suspiciously. “For what?”

“Everything,” he shrugged. “You really helped these past few months. You looked after Liam, you cleaned the house, cooked, paid bills, you helped find Ian _and_ Fiona, you even helped me kick Sammi out of the house and keep all Frank’s messed up shit away from Liam. And you’ve been doing great in school, even with all that. It’s… you know... great. So… thanks.”

Debbie just stared at him. “Is this is joke?” she asked finally.

Lip laughed again. “You really do think I’m an asshole, don’t you?”

“No, it’s just…”

“Don’t think that we don’t notice everything you do, Debbie. We just don’t mention it all the time.”

Debbie pushed herself out of her out of her chair, ran around the table, and hugged Lip’s shoulders. Lip hugged her back. “Jeez Debs, don’t go getting all mushy on me here.”

“Thank you, too,” she whispered. “Sorry I can’t take you to a fancy dinner or a movie or anything. But thanks, Lip.”

Lip wanted to laugh; to push her off and ruffle her hair and make some joke about her crooked teeth. But he couldn’t. He hugged her a little tighter instead. 

* * *

 

Nika from the tug shop smoked like a chimney and swore like a sailor. But she as pretty, in her own way, even with her lazy eye and her tattoos. She was all angles and corners and sharp edges and Svetlana loved it. What she loved even more was the look on Mickey’s face as Nika dropped her bag down at the front door and asked where their room was.

“Upstairs,” Mickey snapped. Mandy, dressed in her waffle house uniform complete with her beaver cap, came and stood beside her brother.

“She’s really moving in?” Mandy asked him.

“I don’t know. What they fuck do I care?”

Mandy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “So that makes _six_ people and a baby living in this house, if Ian comes back.”

“Look, she helps with the rent, then I don’t give a shit,” Mickey said with a shrug, walking into the kitchen.  “I don’t see you kicking out that asshole boyfriend of yours to make room.”

Mandy glared at him. “That’s different. He’s like Ian.”

“The fuck he is.”

“We don’t know this fucking woman,” Mandy insisted, changing the subject and following Mickey around the kitchen as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. Svetlana sauntered up and stood in the doorway, grinning like their bickering amused her. “She could rob us blind.”

“What’s there to fucking take?” Mickey asked, spreading his arms and looking around.

“Whatever,” Mandy said, shaking her head. “This is your fucking problem. And yours,” she spat as passed Svetlana. With that, she left for work.

“So how long is this bitch staying?” Mickey asked Svetlana.

“Nika. Her name is Nika.”

“Fine, whatever. How long?”

Svetlana shrugged and pulled out a chair, sitting down at the table with Mickey. “Maybe a week, maybe forever. We see how it goes.”

Mickey gave a snort.

Svetlana folded her arms and leaned across the table. “She is going to take care of me. And baby. That is more than you ever did.”

Mickey glared at her. “Great. Maybe now you’ll get out of my fucking hair.”

“She can help me. Give me money, buy my things, make me feel important. But you – you must do this for Yevgeny. She cannot help him. Not like you and me.”

Mickey sighed and tried to look anywhere but at Svetlana. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard this speech before.”

“I am serious.”

“I know. All right? I fucking know.”

Svetlana stared at him for a moment. “Do you love him?”

“Who? Ian?”

“No. Yevgeny.”

Mickey was taken back. “What – what kind of fucking question is that?”

“Answer it.”

“Look, I’m not really a _love_ kinda guy, okay?”  

“You love your sister?”

Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Then do you love your son?”

Mickey licked his lips slowly, now facing Svetlana dead on. Her hair wasn’t read anymore, and she hadn’t tried the strap on with him again. She was done, he realized, trying to make him love her. And that’s what she needed – she had nothing else, she needed someone who loved her. That was where her security came from, now that Terry was gone. A safety net. Someone to look after her because she would never have the means to do it herself. She had that now, or thought she did, with Nika. But her son didn’t.

“I’m gunna take care of him,” Mickey said slowly. “He’s gunna be fine. He’s staying here. Which means you are too because there is no fucking way I’m changing any fucking diapers. The kid’ll be okay. Happy?”

Svetlana leaned back in her seat. “No,” she said, but she didn’t press the matter.

“Hey, uh, this chick,” Mickey went on, his tone changing. “She know if there’s any work at that sex shop?”

Svetlana grinned. “Why? You want job there?”

“Nah, I’m talkin’ for you.”

Her grin faded. “Me?”

“Yeah… listen…” Mickey rubbed that back of his neck nervously. “I’ve got some bad news.”

Svetlana just shook her head, muttering in Russian. 

* * *

 

Fiona waited on the sofa for Lip to come home. She had put Liam to bed half an hour ago. Apparently, Lip had been out with Debbie, but that was hours ago. She knew he had a seven o’clock class and figured he was spending time with his girlfriend before he came back. She tapped her foot nervously, smoking a cigarette.

How the fuck was so supposed to tell him this?

She had seen the other kids that day, but hadn’t said anything. It felt right, that she should tell Lip first. He had done so much, she told herself. But she knew that wasn’t why she was doing it. She was doing it because she wanted him to yell at her, to blame her for this – she deserved it. She needed to hear it.

She sat like that for another hour before he came home.

“Hey,” he said, swinging his backpack off his shoulder. Fiona hadn’t seen it before, but it wasn’t new. He must have stolen it.

“Hey,” she muttered. “Come sit for a sec.”

Lip walked through the living room and sat down in the chair across from her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Took Liam to the clinic today.”

“Yeah, I know. And you texted me it went well.”

Fiona took a drag of her fifth cigarette. “They don’t think there’s any brain damage from the coke.”

Lip nodded. “Okay. Great. That’s really fucking great, actually. So why do you look like you’re crawling out of your skin?”

“They say it’s hard to tell,” she went on softly, “but they’re pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure of _what_ , Fi?”

She took another puff, blew the smoke out slowly. “Autism,” she said quietly.

“What? What, like special needs?”

Fiona nodded. “Yeah, autistic. They, um, they gave me these pamphlets,” she said, digging them out of her bag and flinging them onto the table.

Lip looked down at them, then back to Fiona. “And do they know for sure? They did, like, tests and stuff?”

Fiona shook her head. “Not for sure. They want to see how he develops.”

“Oh, okay, how he _develops_ ,” Lip spat. “Jesus, eight years for a fucking medical degree and the best they can give us is wait and see?”

“He doesn’t look when you call his name,” Fiona said, absently. She stared off into the space in front of her. “Have you noticed that?” She took another long drag, tears glistening in her eyes. “I didn’t.”

Lip picked up one of the pamphlets with a happy blond kid hugging some lady on the front. “What do they want us to do?” he asked. “I mean, are there meds for this?”

“And he’s so quiet,” she went on, as if Lip hadn’t spoken. “Hardly says a word. Should be talking by now, they said.”

“He can talk.”

“He doesn’t, though. Not really.”

“Fiona…”

Finally, she looked over at Lip. “I did it again. I didn’t notice. I didn’t fucking see what was right in front of me. First Ian, now Liam.” She shook her head and smiled, a wide, over-eager smile that Lip didn’t like at all. “Anything you want to tell me? Anything I should know about you? How about Carl, huh? Probably has brain damage from all the fights he gets in at school, or when he played football, or when he launches himself down the laundry chute. Or Debbie? She could be four months pregnant and I wouldn’t know.”

“Please, Fiona, just relax for a minute…”

“Relax?” she laughed, “I can’t relax. This is my fault. I’m never here anymore, so how could I know what’s going on with my kids?”

“Autism,” Lip sighed, leaning back in his seat, “it’s not so bad. I had an autistic kid in my class once. He was… you know, pretty normal.”

Fiona dropped her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and buried her face in her hands.

“Shit, don’t cry,” Lip muttered, moving from the chair to the sofa. He put his arm around her shoulder. “Debbie was just telling me today what a great job you’re doing. And you’re the one helping Ian out, right? You’re the one getting him to the doctor. And you’ll do the same with Liam. Jesus, Fiona, you can’t beat yourself up over things you have no control over.”

Fiona straightened up and looked over at Lip. “You’re supposed to yell at me, you know.”

“Why does everyone in this family think I’m a huge dick?”

Fiona shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Lip pushed her away playfully and she laughed – a normal, sane-sounding laugh this time.

“I’m not gunna yell at you, Fiona,” Lip said seriously. “No one else thought anything was wrong with Liam. It’s not all on you. We’ll help – all of us – he’s gunna be fine. Hell,” Lip went on, “autism sounds great compared to the other shit that’s out there.”

Fiona sighed. “I just…” She shook her head. “Cascading failures, I guess,” she mumbled to herself as she stood up. She threw the pamphlets back into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Lip asked.

“Sheila’s,” she answered.

“Liam home?”

She nodded. “Upstairs. Asleep.”

“The others?”

“Debbie’s upstairs in her room, Ian’s over at Mickey’s, and Carl is at some friend’s house.”

“Cool. I’ll hold down the fort.” Lip put his feet up on the table and flicked on the TV.

“I, um, I haven’t told the other kids yet. About Liam.”

Lip nodded. “Okay. I won’t say anything. When were you planning on it?”

She shrugged. “Soon.”

“All right. Why Sheila’s?”

“I need to find Frank.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“One of his kids is bipolar and the other might be autistic. He should know that.”

Lip shook his head, taking a smoke from the carton on the table and placing it in his mouth. “Doesn’t matter if he knows,” he said, lighting it. “Not like he’ll give a shit.”

Fiona shrugged. “I thought maybe, after the surgery, he might… I don’t know, _care_.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“I’m not, but… he should at least know, don’t you think?”

Lip shook his head. “No. I don’t. But do what you want, it’s no skin off my back.”

“Well… then, I’m off.”

“Fi,” he called after her. She stopped and turned back around. “Don’t… don’t go over there just to punish yourself, okay?”

Fiona just stared at him, confused.

“Well, what are you expecting from Frank? Him to, I don’t know, offer you some help? Fatherly wisdom? A promise to be there in his son’s time of need?”

“What are you getting at?”

Lip turned around so he was facing Fiona as she stood near the door, pulling on her coat. “I’m not going to punish you for this, so you’re looking for someone to make you feel like shit. Frank’s always been good for that, so off you go. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t feel like shit and you shouldn’t bother with him.”

Fiona bit her lip and thought for a minute. “I know,” she said softly. “But he’s their father, Lip. This is big shit, okay? Not a bad report card or a sprained ankle.”

“Fine,” Lip sighed, turning back to the TV. “Have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I never do,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

Lip sat there, staring at the television screen without having any idea what he was watching for what seemed like hours, silently wishing that Frank had died a long time ago.

* * *

 

“Carl? Carl, are you still awake?”

“Mhmm.” Carl was curled up on the old chair, his eyes starting to close.

“You’ve gotta learn to pace yourself,” Frank said seriously. “I can’t keep having you pass out on me.”

“Sorry. I’m awake.” Carl struggled to sit up. “What time is it?”

Frank shrugged. “Come on, it’s Friday. You can stay up. How old are you now, fifteen?”

“Twelve.”

“More than old enough to miss a couple of bedtimes.”

Carl nodded.

There was a knock at the door upstairs, but Frank and Carl ignored it. They could hear Sheila shuffle across the floor in her slippers. She was talking with someone.

“Turn up the TV,” Frank ordered.

Carl did as he was told, taking another swig of rum. He hadn’t liked it when he first started drinking with Frank, but now he hardly tasted it anymore. Frank suggested mixing it with something, Coke maybe, but Carl thought that was a dumb idea. If he wanted a Coke, he’d drink one – he wanted to get drunk.

“You gunna finish that whole thing tonight?” Frank asked.

“I could if I wanted to.”

“What a champ,” Frank grinned. “Prove it!”

There was only about a quarter of the bottle left, but Carl’s stomach churned at the idea of drinking anymore of it. Still, he grabbed the bottle, tipped it to his mouth, and drank. Frank laughed.

“ _You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me_!”

Both Carl and Frank turned to see Fiona and Sheila standing at the base of the stairs.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Frank demanded.

Sheila shrugged helplessly. “She said she needed to talk to you.”

Fiona marched over to Carl and snatched the bottle out of his hand. “Seriously, Carl? _Seriously_?”

“Ah, let the boy have some fun,” Frank said. “It’s harmless.”

Fiona rounded on him. “He is twelve fucking years old!” she cried, holding the near-empty bottle out in front of her. She turned back to Carl, who had sat back down. “Did you drink all this?” she said, pointing to the bottle with her free hand. “Or did he help?”

Carl didn’t say anything.

“All him!” Frank beamed. “Kid’s got a stomach like iron.”

“Christ, Frank!”

“What? You really think the kid’s never had a drink before?”

“This isn’t a _beer_ he stole out of the fridge,” Fiona yelled. “He’s gunna get sick!”

“He hardly ever pukes anymore.”

“ _Anymore_? How often to you do this to him?”

“He doesn’t do anything to me!” Carl yelled from his seat, finally speaking up. He held on tight to the armrests, trying to keep the world from spinning. “We just hang out. Not like _you_ ever bother to.”

“No,” Fiona snapped, “I don’t bother to spend time with this asshole because this is the kind of shit he pulls. I don’t mean sick like a bad hangover, Carl. I mean _sick_ sick. Like that,” she said forcefully, jabbing her finger towards Frank, who was pale and sprawled out on his bed. “You wanna end up like him?”

Carl didn’t say anything. He just glared a Fiona, angrier at her than he could ever remember being.

“Cause that’s where you’re headed,” she went on. “That’s _exactly_ where he’ll lead you.”

“Shut up,” Carl said quietly. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t even care that he almost died.”

“I did care. And I told him he needed to get better – for you guys. But he didn’t, Carl,” she said, her voice softer now. “He wouldn’t do it, not even for you.”

Carl sank deeper into his chair. “You’re being a bitch.”

Fiona threw the bottle of rum down onto the floor. It was plastic, so it didn’t shatter, but bounced a few times as the bit of liquor left in it spilled out onto the carpet. “Go upstairs!” she cried. “Go upstairs and get your coat! We’re coming home – _now_!”

Sheila rushed over and grabbed Carl by the shoulders, leading him to the stairs. “I didn’t know they were drinking,” she muttered to herself. “Oh my… come on, Carl. Oh dear. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Fiona turned back to Frank, breathing hard. “This is low, Frank. Even for you.”

“Oh please, you’re overacting, as usual. Can’t a father have a drink with his son? Since when is

it a crime to bond with the only one of your children who actually gives a damn?”

“Don’t you do this to him,” she said fiercely. She wasn’t yelling anymore; it wasn’t rage or anger that she felt– it was hate. “You know he cares what you think. Don’t you put this on him.”

“I’m not –”

“He’s a _kid_ , Frank.”

“Bullshit he is.”

“He’s a kid who wants his father to spend time with him – you never did before, but now that you’ve finally drank yourself to death, you want him around.”

Frank shifted himself in bed, sat himself up, pulling himself up a little straighter. “You don’t know that kid at all. He’s just like me at that age.”

“No!” Fiona cried, taking a step forward. “No, he’s nothing like you! Because he gives a shit about the people who care about him! About his family! You can’t turn him into _you_ , Frank!”

“I give a shit –”

“Like hell you do! Do you know your son is sick? Ian. Took him to the doctor’s a few days ago. He’s bipolar, Frank.”

Frank stared at her for a second, blinking. “What?”

“Yeah,” Fiona raged on, “but you wouldn’t know that.”

“Bi…bipolar? No, no he’s not. That’s just bullshit the doctors spew so they can make you buy their drugs and sit in the waiting rooms and charge you by the hour.”

“He’s sick! Monica is sick and now Ian is sick! But you never cared about either of them!”

“Don’t talk about Monica. Don’t say her name.”

“Your _son_ , Frank.”

Frank was quiet for a moment. “Ian’s not my son,” he finally said.

Fiona yelled out loud, incoherently. “Fine! Fine, fuck you Frank. If he’s not your son, none of them are. You don’t get to go anywhere near those kids, ever. Do you understand me?”

Frank just shook his head from side to side. “It’ll never work. You can’t take them from me.”

Fiona ran her hands through her hair, inhaling deeply to try and calm herself down. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. Lip was right. You don’t give a shit. You never did and you never will. I came here to try and tell you your kid is –”

“You told me,” Frank snapped.

“No,” she said steadily, shaking her head. Tears were in her eyes, but she refused to cry. “Liam, you asshole.”

“The kid you almost killed? How’s that for great parenting?”

Fiona lunged forward and slapped Frank, hard. Blood beaded near the corner of his lower lip. He wiped it away without looking at her. “He’s autistic!” she cried. “He’s has fucking special needs and I’m willing to bet a million to one that you and Monica are somehow to blame.” She took a step back, wiping her hand across her nose and trying to stop her heart from racing. “And I’ll never forgive you for it.” She turned to leave.

Carl was sitting at the top of the stairs in his coat and hat. “Liam’s sick?” he asked softly.

“Carl,” Fiona breathed. “No, no Carl… I was going to tell you… not like this, shit.”

Carl stood up and ran to the front door, his eyes red and stinging with tears. Fiona raced after him.

Sheila stood there in her floral nightgown, fiddling with her hands nervously. “It’s great that Liam is a retard. I still have some t-shirts if you…”

Fiona pushed past her and ran after her brother, who was already on the porch. “Carl!” she called after him. “Carl, wait! Please!”

But he was already running down the dark street.

 


	4. The Plan

This was Jimmy’s third meeting with Sunan, the vicious pimp who ran his business using a Laundromat as a front. Sunan was a thin man, and not very tall, but his face was cruel and his mouth curled into a half smile, half snarl when he saw Jimmy walk through the doors.

“Ah,” Sunan called with his heavy accent. “Nice to see you again, Jack.”

Jimmy gave him a nod. “And you.” He nodded to the other men in the room, too. There were three of them – not the same ones Jimmy had seen before. Sunan didn’t bother with introductions.

“I’m very curious,” Sunan said, sitting down at an old wooden table and lighting a spliff, “what did your boss say?”

Jimmy took a seat too, looking around the room as he did. It was a small room in the back of the building, with a low ceiling, faded film posters and notices written in Thai tacked onto the wall, and a dull naked light bulb swinging from the ceiling. “Well, she’s not happy,” Jimmy said bluntly.

“She?” Sunan repeated.

“ _He_. I said he,” Jimmy lied. Eve would kill him if he let anything about her real identity slip. If these guys didn’t kill her first.

“And why not?” Sunan leaned back, blowing smoke into the air. His bare arms were covered in faded, dark green and black tattoos that Jimmy couldn’t make any sense of.

Jimmy shrugged and tried to seem casual. Two different men had patted him down before they allowed him in the back room, and they’d taken his gun. He hadn't really been sure how to hide it. Eve really was going to kill him. “He says you’re not being reasonable. He offered a fair price.”

Sunan grinned. “Fair? He wants me to stop all trade with Thailand. I get all my supplies from Thailand.”

“Supplies?” Jimmy questioned.

“You know. For my Laundromat.”

The other men in the room grinned, too.

“Oh,” Jimmy said with a nod. “Right.”

“So, your boss offers me an insulting amount of… what did you call it?”

“Compensation,” Jimmy gave.

“Right. _Compensation_. He offers me this to cut my ties with Thailand. But why would I do this?”

“He’s also willing to buy your contacts from you,” Jimmy added in a rush. “For even more than the original offer. Sunan, you won’t see that much money if you trick out every girl in Thailand in this dump. That’s why you’d do this.”

Sunan leaned back in his seat again and whispered something to one of the other men, who left quickly. Jimmy leaned back too, trying not to look as terrified as he felt.

“Is that what your man thinks?” Sunan went on, showing off his yellowed teeth. “Because I make good money here. Girls cost next to nothing, I’m the best place this city’s got. Plus, they work at the Laundromat during the day, no charge.” He smiled again. “Besides, I do all my business here. Not just girls. I’ve got people in Mexico looking to move a some product soon. I’ve got the manpower to do it, and the buyers. So why would I give that up?”

Jimmy shook his head, still acting cool and confident. “There’s no money in drugs. Not real money, not in Chicago.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Market’s cornered,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “Not wise to try and push into it.”

“How do you know?”

“Used to live here. Knew some people.” It wasn’t a big lie, but Jimmy prayed it didn’t show on his face. Cars, he knew about. Diapers, too. Not drugs and whores.

Just then three young women walked through the door, carrying food, beer, and liquor. One of them set a glass in front of Jimmy. She was young; it was hard to tell, but Jimmy would have guessed she was no older than seventeen. She made no eye contact and moved away as quickly as she could – not quick enough for Jimmy to miss the bruises on her arms. All three women seemed to fade into the shadows as soon as they were done setting down what they had.

Sunan picked at the food, bored. “Please, Jack,” he said, motioning to it. “Eat. Drink.”

“What’s your counter offer?” Jimmy demanded, ignoring him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know who this works. You don’t like our numbers, fine. What’s your number? How much will it take to shut this place down?”

“Shut it down?” Sunan asked, surprised. “Jacky boy, we discussed an end to my imports. Not my business. These girls have another ten good years in them, don’t you?” he asked, pulling one of the girls into his lap. She kept her head down, her hair shielding her face, but didn’t move away from him.

“How much?” Jimmy demanded again, sterner this time.

Sunan looked back at him from across the table, his smile completely gone now. “You seem like a much less reasonable man today, Jack.” He pushed the girl off his lap and waved his arm for the women to go. Jimmy watched them as they left, feeling like he’d just swallowed a brick. Sunan murmured something.

“What was that?” Jimmy asked. “You have to speak up. Bad ear,” he said, pointing to the left side of his head.

Sunan continued smoking, observing Jimmy for a moment, not speaking. Finally, he said, “you seem like a smart boy, Jacky. I let your boss take my girls, he opens a business of his own, I go under.”

“But you’ll be paid. Well.”

“And what’s going to stop me,” Sunan asked, a new glint in his eye, “from taking your money and continuing my work? I’ve never heard of you, I’ve never heard of your man – I don’t even know his name. All you can tell me is that he was the one who brought down Nando Souza last year in Brazil. I didn’t know Nando, but I knew his work. He was in the drug business, the best there was I’m told. So why the switch, Jack? Why would your boss start with drugs and end with women? How wide a net does he hope to cast?”

“My boss’s business with Nando Souza was personal,” Jimmy said evenly. “He’s never been interested in the drug trade.”

“So he makes his living through human trafficking?”

“How he makes his living is his business,” Jimmy said curtly.

“But it is my business.” Sunan leaned forward across the table, his eyes never leaving Jimmy’s. The weak yellow light in the room cast heavy shadows on his face, darkening his eyes. “It very much is, since his business seems to be to stop mine. So I ask again – what’s going to stop me from continuing my work after I have your man’s money?”

Jimmy leaned forward as well, nearly snarling through his teeth. “ _I_ am.”

 

* * *

Carl stood in front of the secretary’s desk impatiently as she gave him the same blank stare she’d been giving him for ten minutes. “I’m sorry, Carl,” she said for the hundredth time, “but you know I can’t tell you that.”

“I just want to know where she is, why is that such a big deal?”

“Student records and information are private. I can’t give them out to just anyone.”

“I’m not _just anyone_ , I’m her friend!”

The secretary turned back to her computer. “I’m going to have to ask you to go back to class now. You’re wasting both of our time.”

“But she’s been gone for weeks!” he insisted.

“I’m aware.”

“What if the police were looking for her? Would you tell _them_?” he snapped.

“But the police aren’t looking for her.”

“I’ll call them.” It was a weak lie. If the police did ever find her, they’d see that she and her family were living out of a van; they’d put her in foster care away from her siblings for who knew how long. Carl knew enough about what that was like. He couldn’t do that, not to Bonnie.

The secretary looked back at him over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses. Carl tried to glare at her angrily, but his heart thumping in his chest and his mouth was pressed into a thin, worried line. Her expression softened. “Look, this isn’t really unusual for Bonnie’s family, all right? Her mother called a few weeks ago and said she and her kids were going to be away for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Carl demanded.

“I don’t know, she didn’t say. But I wouldn’t worry about it. They always come back. Honestly, Carl. They always do.”

Carl just rolled his eyes and turned away, heading for the door. “No one in this stupid school is good for anything,” he muttered as he left. He’d just have to keep looking on his own.

He was heading back to math class when Les and Fiore stomped up behind him. They had a third friend this time, tall and broad shouldered with a thick neck who looked like he drooled in his sleep. “Hey Gallagher,” the Les called after him, “guess what I heard?”

“That your dad saw how ugly you were when your fat mom pushed you out and that’s why he took off?”

“No, that your brother’s full-retarded now after your sister gave me cocaine.”

Carl rounded on him. “She didn’t give –”

“C-c-c-c-cocaine!” stammered Fiore, pretended to twitch. Their big friend laughed.

“Who the hell are you?” Carl demanded.

“This is my cousin, Shane,” Les said with grin. “He heard you were giving us a hard time, wanted to meet you and stuff.”

“Hard time?” Carl laughed. “Say it like it was – I kicked both of your asses and you didn’t have to stones to stand up to me so you went crying to Principal Ramirez.”

“Watch it,” Les growled.

“He’s just upset ‘cause some sweaty dyke made his sister her bitch when she was in jail,” Fiore piped up.

“Shut up,” Carl warned, clenching his fists.

Shane took a lumbering step forward. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You should be nice to my friends.”

Carl looked up at him – Shane was at least a foot taller than him and easily forty pounds heavier. “Jesus, were you parents _cousins_?”

“What?” Shane looked at Les, confused. “You’re my cousin.”

“No, Shane, he’s teasing you…” Les sighed, frustrated. He rounded on Carl. “Saw your ginger sister’s titties on Facebook the other day. Not much there, but worth a look.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Carl said. He tried to sound relaxed, like he couldn’t care less what these two assholes thought – but really his whole body was tense and he was wishing he’d brought his pocket knife. It was stupid of him to have given that shiv he made to Debbie. “I’m trying to talk to your half-wit bodyguard. We’re bonding,” Carl went on, his heart racing. He looked around the hall to see if there were any teachers nearby.

 “Not as half-witted as your little brother!” Fiore cried. “Can’t wait to see him on the short bus!”

“Maybe he’ll save you a spot,” Carl snarled through clenched teeth.

Les took a step forward, but Carl shoved him back.

“Hey!” Shane yelled. “Aunt Lisa said you couldn’t hurt Les anymore.”

“Fuck Aunt Lisa,” Carl growled.

Shane’s eyes darkened and his brow furrowed. “Don’t talk like that about my family.”

“Yeah? What about what they’re saying about my family?”

“Not our fault it’s true,” Fiore shrugged.

“It’s not!” Carl yelled.

“Not true your brother is a fag, then?”

Carl swung and punched Fiore in the jaw, hard enough to knock him onto his back. Les tried to run at him, but Carl swung his leg around kicked him hard on both his shins, sending his sprawling onto the floor. Shane yelled something incoherent and lumbered forward, but Carl lowered himself and ran at him, hitting him right at his gut and knocking him onto his back. He was onto stop of Shane now, sitting on his shoulders and punching the side of his face. Someone knocked him down – Les – but from his back Carl was able to use both of his legs to kick him in the stomach. Fiore came at him next, but Carl head-butted him as he stood up. Fiore staggered back, clutching his face. “My nose!” he cried. “You broke my nose, you asshole!”

“Fucking Gallagher!” Les yelled. “Not our fault your family is full of retards, whores, and faggots!”

Carl rushed at him, bouncing the back of his head against the lockers and throwing him back onto the ground with a strength he didn’t know he had. Carl turned around, but Shane was right there. Shane punched Carl, bloodying his nose, but he barely felt it. Carl yelled, his throat raw, his eyes stinging, and rushed at Shane again. The other two were yelling something behind him, but Carl ignored him. He was punching Shane over and over and over again when someone dragged him away. He nearly punched them, too, until he realized it was Mr. Wilson, the football coach.

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher!” Mr. Wilson cried. There were other teacher’s there too; someone was pressing an icepack to Fiore’s nose. “Kid – kid, look at me! Come on, you’re talking to Ramirez, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Carl let himself be dragged down the hall, blood and tears streaming down his face.  

* * *

Amanda sat cross-legged on Lip’s bed, a heavy textbook open in her lap. “Do you think I should switch majors?” she asked, suddenly looking up.

Lip sat at his desk, making notes on a piece of paper. “Uh, dunno. You want to?”

Amanda shrugged. “Why not? Not like being a math major was my dream or anything.”

“Yeah,” Lip went on, still writing, “but you’re good at it.”

“So?”

“So, you’ll get good grades, find a decent job, make good money. You could go to grad school or something, if you wanted.”

“But I don’t. And money doesn’t matter.”

Lip laughed.

“Seriously,” Amanda insisted, closing her book with a thud. “Isn’t it more important that I’m happy with what I’m doing with my life than if I’m making a ton of money?”

“Uh… no.”

Amanda rolled her eyes as Lip finally turned around to face her. “You’re so cynical.”

“It’s just reality. I mean, if you wanna switch majors, that’s fine. But don’t pick fucking philosophy or something, okay? Think ahead.”

“Why are you assuming I’m not thinking ahead?”

“Because you’re smart, but you’re also used to getting what you want. So if you think you want something, like to change your major to something stupid, you’ll do it.”

Amanda stood up. “Remind me never to ask your advice again.” She headed for the door.

Lip jumped up. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off, okay?”

“How can you think I should stick with something I hate instead of live my own life?”

“When did I ever say that?”

She pulled her hand away from his. “You just did, Lip!”

“Christ, I don’t have time for this. Can we reschedule this fight after my lit essay is done? Go ahead,” he said, motioning to the wall behind his bed, “fit it somewhere onto my schedule.”

“You really think I just get whatever I want?” Amanda went on, ignoring him.

“Yes. Am I wrong?”

Amanda bent down and threw a pillow at Lip’s head. “Fuck off, Lip. You don’t know anything about me.” She turned to leave again, but Lip managed to get to the door first.

“Look… okay, you’re right. I am being cynical.”

Amanda placed her hands on her hips. “And?”

“And what?”

“Apologize!”

Lip inhaled slowly. “I’m not wrong, Amanda. You’ve had a good life, all right? You just don’t realize it. I know you’re parents are jerks, I get that. But Jesus, you really think you’ve had it so hard? They send you care packages for God’s sake.”

“Let me out.” She tried to reach around him for the doorknob. “I can’t be here anymore.”

Lip grabbed her hand again. “I just don’t want to see you fuck you shit up when you’re doing so well!”

“Bullshit. You just want everyone to be as miserable as you are.”

Lip dropped her hand.

“I’m sorry you’ve had shit to deal with, okay?” Amanda went on. “But that doesn’t mean your shit is worse than the rest of the world’s or that you can to tell me what to do you my life.”

“Then why did you _ask_ me?”

“Stupid me,” Amanda said with a sarcastic smile, “I has this crazy idea my boyfriend was going to support me.”

Lip sighed. “Fine, do whatever you want.”

“Not exactly what I meant.”

“I’m serious. Change you major, drop out, join the circus, whatever. You’re right, it’s your life. Do what you want with it. All right? Are we good now?”

“No,” Amanda said, but she turned and sat back on the bed.

Lip pressed his hand to his forehead. “You’re so fucking hard to talk to sometimes.”

“Anthropology.”

“What?”

Amanda gathered up her books and stood up again. “That’s what I’m switching to. It’s interesting.”

“Fine, whatever.”

This time, Amanda pushed past Lip and opened the door. “I’m gunna go do it now, since I get whatever I want whenever I want.”

“Amanda, will you just –”

But she had already slammed the door shut.

* * *

“Frank?” Sheila said quietly, stepping lightly down the stairs. “Frank, do you want some breakfast?”

Frank shook his head and mumbled something into his pillow.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Sammi and Chucky are upstairs. We’re going to have French toast with a blueberry reduction. It’s yummy!” She leaned down over him. He reeked of booze and sweat.

 “I’m not feeling so well, Sheils. Maybe later,” he muttered.

Sheila sighed. “Oh. Okay. You know, if you stopped drinking, you’d feel better.”

“No I wouldn’t, trust me.”

“The doctor said…”

“Fuck what the doctor said,” Frank grumbled, turning over on his side. “I just need some sleep.”

Sheila bit her lip and clasped her hands anxiously. “Fine,” she said finally. “For today. But tomorrow you’re getting up for breakfast.”

“Yeah? Or what?”

Sheila shrugged lightly. “Or I’ll kick you out of the house, I guess.”

“Bullshit.”

“I did it to my first husband,” she said, turning around and heading back up the stairs. “I’m sure I can do it again.”

* * *

On Saturday morning, Lip sat at the kitchen table and tried to sort out his thoughts. He wanted to figure out what to do with Amanda – they hadn’t spoken since she’d stormed out of his dorm, but something else was gnawing at him. At lot of things, actually. But that morning, Lip was trying to decide whether or not he should tell Fiona that he had seen Jimmy.

On the one hand, he knew she deserved to know.

One the other, she already had too much on her plate. What good would it do?

He glanced over as Fiona bustled around the kitchen, her hair knotted up on the back of her head, making omelettes.

He looked down at his phone. Amanda had texted him last night: _if I’m so hard to talk to, don’t bother coming over later_.

Fiona slid a plate in front of him. “Hungry?”

He looked up at her. “Yeah. Smells good. Thanks.”

“You look distracted,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.

Lip shrugged. “Trouble with Amanda.”

“That it?”

Lip dug into his food. “This looks great,” he said, trying to change the subject. “What’s the occasion?”

Fiona’s face fell. “I was gunna… I was gunna tell everyone about Liam today.”

“Oh. Shit. Okay. Now?”

Fiona nodded. “When they all get up. Figured I’d tell them all together.”

 Lip nodded. “Okay.” So that settled it – for now, he’d keep his mouth shut about fucking Jimmy.

“Carl knows,” Fiona admitted. “Heard me tell Frank.”

Lip sat back ran his hand through his hair. “He okay?”

“No. Ran away from me like I had the plague. You know he’s been drinking with Frank? Really drinking.”

“No, I didn’t. I mean, I knew he visited him, but I didn’t know what they were doing.”

Fiona shook her head, angry at Frank all over again. “He’s gunna kill himself, you know. Frank. And he’s making Carl watch him do it – hell, he’s making him _participate_.”

“You gunna keep Carl away from him then?”

“How can I?” she asked helplessly. “He’ll find a way to see him. I gotta talk to him, somehow. Make him see.” She lowered her head. “He hates me, you know.”

“Who hates you?” a new voice asked.

Fiona and Lip both turned to see Ian walked into the kitchen and poor himself some coffee.

“Wow,” Ian said, looking around. “Eggs look good.”

“Grab some,” Fiona said. “Come sit. I could use your advice.”

Ian did, sitting down beside Fiona. Lip seemed to avoid eye contact, focusing on his phone.

“Amanda?” Fiona asked, noticing Lip flicking through his messages.

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

“So what did you need my advice about?” Ian asked.

 Fiona sighed. “It’s Carl. He’s been drinking with Frank.”

“Oh, I knew that.”

“You _what_?” Fiona cried.

“Yeah, I caught him with a massive hang over the other morning. Didn’t know it was with Frank, but it makes sense.”

“Just the once?” Fiona asked.

Ian shrugged. “That I noticed. Why? He do it a lot?”

“Dunno,” Fiona admitted. “Seemed like it though. Kid practically killed a mickey of rum by himself.”

“That’s nothing, he’s a Gallagher,” Ian said with a smile.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Lip said, suddenly looking up. “Jesus, Ian.”

Ian’s brow furrowed and he stared at Lip for a minute. “I know it’s not funny.”

“Then why are you brushing it off?”

“Like you weren’t drinking at his age?” Ian accused.

Lip went to reply, but Fiona interrupted. “Look, I just need one of you to talk to him. Make him see that getting that hammered all the time is going to get him into shit, you know? He won’t listen to me. Hell, he won’t even look at me.”

Ian took a sip of coffee, glaring at Lip who was already back to ignoring him and scrolling through his phone. “Already on it,” he said simply.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, you think I’m just gunna let my little brother get himself into trouble? What you gotta understand about Carl is he hates listening to people. To rules and shit. You gotta make him think it’s his idea.”

“How do I do that?” Fiona asked eagerly.

Ian thought for a minute. “I don’t know if _you_ can. I mean, you’ve been making the rules here since he can remember.”

“So what have you been doing?” Fiona searched his face for any answers she might find there. “You talk to him about it?”

“Not really. I was cool about it. Really cool.”

Lip rolled his eyes. “Great plan.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ian snapped. He turned back to Fiona. “Because it doesn’t matter to me if he gets wasted, right? I’m not here to tell him what to do. But, I was thinking, maybe get him into something. Get him focused on something else.”

“He already got kicked off the football team for fighting,” Fiona sighed.

“Exactly. He likes helping me train and stuff.  I was thinking maybe he could get into boxing.”

“Boxing?” Fiona repeated. “We can’t afford – ”

“I’ll teach him.”

“You don’t box,” Lip pointed out.

“Yeah, but I got this friend from the club whose been showing me some stuff. Not a lot, but the basics. And there’s tons of shit on the internet. I could teach Carl. And, you know, if he wants to get serious about it, we’ll have to get up early and train together. Won’t be fun if he’s hung over.”

Fiona nodded slowly. “Okay, I mean, it sounds all right.”

“And, if we want to get really good, we’re gunna have to get healthy, right? We’ll eat right, exercise – and not drink. No rules, just something better to do.”

Fiona grinned.

“You’re not gunna drink?” Lip asked incredulously.

Ian lowered his head awkwardly. “Well, I’m – I’m not really – supposed to…”

Suddenly, there was a rush of footsteps down the stairs. Debbie walked down first, grinning when she saw the food.

“Morning!” Fiona cried brightly.

Carl came down next, leading Liam by the hand. “What’s this for?” he asked groggily.

Fiona stood up and scooped Liam into her arms. “The eggs were about to go bad,” she lied. “So I made breakfast.” Carl ignored her, grabbing a plate.

“Cool,” Debbie said, filling her plate. She sat down next to Lip, pulled out her phone, and sighed disappointedly.

“What’s up?” Lip asked her.

“Nothing. Stupid Matty hasn’t texted me in days.”

“Oh,” Lip answered. He let it drop.

Fiona sat Liam in his highchair and brought him some food. She waited until everyone was sitting down before sitting down herself. She watched them all there, fighting for elbow space and more juice, and laughing at how bad Lip’s hair and Carl’s breath were. She wondered when the last time they had been all together like this was.

She closed her eyes and inhaled. It was now or never.

“Um, guys,” she started. “We kind of… I need to tell you something. Pretty big.”

Carl looked up from his food and glared at her accusingly. “They don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Debbie asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Lip put his hand on her arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Fiona’ll explain.”

“Wait, you know?” Ian asked. He turned to Fiona. “What they hell do Lip and Carl know that I don’t?”

Fiona bit her lip, her heart pounding. “I took Liam to the clinic the other day.”

She watched each of them carefully. Lip steadied himself, looking around at his siblings. Debbie leaned forward, terrified she might miss something Fiona was about to say. Carl leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms sullenly. Ian pressed his hand to his forehead and looked at Liam, playing happily with his eggs.

“They said,” she went on slowly, “that there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage from… from…”

“Your cocaine,” Carl spat.

Fiona lowered her head. “Yeah.”

“That’s great,” Ian said, confused. “Why are you so upset?”

“They said…they said we need to wait to know for sure, but…they think he might be autistic.”

“What?” Ian asked. “What do you mean? Like, he can’t talk?”

Lip shook his head. “Some autistic kids have trouble communicating, but a lot of them are really high functioning.”

Ian’s brow furrowed again. He turned to Fiona. “You told Lip? Before us?”

Fiona shrugged. “I needed to tell someone.”

Ian didn’t press it, but it still stung. He leaned back in his seat and started to realize that maybe his place in this family had changed since he’d come back.

“But… but…” Debbie’s hands were pressed to her cheeks now, tears glistening in her eyes. “Are they sure?”

“No,” Fiona admitted.

“So he could be fine?”

Lip put his hand on her shoulder. “Debs, doctors don’t say this kinda shit lightly.”

“But… but he doesn’t seem…” Debbie struggled to piece her thoughts together as her tears finally fell. “He seems fine. He’s fine.”

“I know it’s hard to tell now,” Fiona said, trying to sound reassuring, “but he’s almost four. He should be talking more. He should be playing with other kids, but he never wants to. You remember day care? He was always off by himself or with one of us.”

“I thought autistic kids… you know, like twitched and stuff,” Ian put in.

“It’s a spectrum,” Lip answered knowingly. “It can be severe or really mild. Let’s hope Liam’s on the lower end.”

Ian scrutinized Lip again. “Did you read up on this or something? How long have you known?”

Lip shrugged. “Couple days.”

Ian turned back to Fiona. “You seriously waited this long to tell us?”

“I wanted to tell you all together,” she said softly.

“I knew,” Carl muttered, his arms still firmly across his chest.

Ian just looked at Fiona. She sighed. “He heard me tell Frank.”

“ _Frank_ knew before me?”

“This isn’t about _you_ , Ian,” Lip snapped.

“What they fuck is up with you today?” Ian asked him, shaking his head. “You’ve been up my ass all morning –”

“Will you guys shut up?” Debbie demanded, wiping her eyes.

Ian heart sank when looked back over to her. “Sorry Debs.”

Debbie looked back at Fiona. “So, we’re supposed to _wait_? Is that what the doctors said? We’re not supposed to give him medicine or take him to therapy or anything?”

“Not yet, I guess,” Fiona said.

“We should get a second opinion,” Ian said firmly. “Even a third. Waiting around doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

Lip sighed, but nodded. “He’s right,” he admitted.

“Yeah, okay,” Fiona said, rubbing her hand over Liam’s head affectionately. “I’ll take him Tuesday after work.”

Carl stood up, took his plate to the kitchen, dropped it with a thud, and left. Ian looked at Fiona, gave her a reassuring nod, and then followed his brother upstairs.

Lip gave his phone one last check before slipping it into his pocket and standing up, too. “I got an exam on Wednesday, I’m gunna go study. If I get enough done, I’ll be able to go with you Tuesday.”

Fiona nodded.

 Then Lip gave Debbie’s shoulder a pat and left, too.

Debbie stared at the staircase even after everyone had filed upstairs, wiping her eyes. Then she looked over at Liam and sighed. “ _Brothers_ ,” she muttered.

* * *

“Some man in a tie comes in and scares you and now we have no jobs?” Svetlana barked.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Come on, I explained. Kev and V are worried someone’s gunna ask to come up into the apartment.”

Svetlana shrugged. “They can’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey said, aggravated, rapping his knuckles on the kitchen table, “maybe they can. This health dude knows about the asbestos. Someone told – probably one of the fucking fence-hoppers Kev hired. Two of them up and quit on him. So yeah, they might make us get some people up there to check it out.”

Svetlana leaned back in her seat at the kitchen table and crossed her legs, her face stone cold. “Get rid of these people, then.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She sighed exaggeratedly. “A bunch of pussies. I thought,” she went on, more forcefully, “that the government stayed out of man’s  home in America.”

“I don’t know, blame Obama. But I am not going to fucking jail for this.”

“So this is it? We are closed?”

“Soon,” Mickey promised.

“And what about the girls? What about me? Where do we go?”

Mickey rubbed his forehead, more to avoid looking at Svetlana than anything. “I’m working on that.”

Svetlana started in on him in rapid Russian.

“I don’t fucking understand that!”

“You cannot give them nothing!” she cried. “You know Sasha won’t have them back!”

“I know, I know! Look – what do you think?”

“You want to know what I think?”

“Yes, I just fucking asked you.”

Svetlana glared at him. “I think you are an idiot.”

“Great. That’s really fucking great, very helpful.” Mickey stood up from the table and headed toward his room.

 “Wait,” Svetlana said, standing up too. She clenched her jaw, crossed her arms, and looked at him for a minute, trying to gage what his reaction might be. “Citizenship,” she said finally.

“ _What_?”

“Make them legal. Then they can find more work. Good work.”

“With no education or experience doing anything but sucking dick? Not gunna happen.”

“It’s what I think,” she said firmly. “It will keep them safe. Give them rights.”

“Look, that is way more complicated than you think it is,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to –”

“Figure it out. Or, they come back here. To live. Until they find new job.”    

Mickey pushed his tongue to the side of his mouth as he thought. “I’ll ask around, okay? But don’t expect anything.”

“From you? I never do.”         

* * *

When Lip walked into The Alibi the next day, his head was still spinning. He tried to act like it didn’t bother him, like autism was nothing to worry about. With Fiona already freaking out, he knew he needed to seem normal for the others. He didn’t feel normal, though. It was terrifying. To top it all off, he had spent so much time reading about autism instead of  _The Dream of the Rood_ , that even he knew his lit paper was terrible.

He sat down at the bar. Kev grinned at him. “Hey, man! How’s college?”

Lip shrugged. “All right. Could use a beer, though.”

“You got it. Look, you’re just the man I wanted to see. I got a bit of a problem.”

“I’m sorry, Kev, but I really can’t deal with anyone else’s problems right now.”

“Right, shit,” Kev muttered, shaking his head. “I heard about Liam. V told me. That’s rough, man.”

Lip shrugged, taking his beer. “Nothing we can really do.”

Kev just nodded. “How’s Fiona holding up?”

“Blaming herself.”

“And the others?”

“They don’t really understand it, I think,” Lip admitted. “I mean, with Ian… with Ian, they had something to compare it to. We’ve never really known anyone with autism. We don’t know what to expect.”

“I was in a foster home once with this autistic kid,” Kev said. “He was a cool dude. A bit weird,” he shrugged. “But the kid knew _everything_ about the solar system. He wouldn’t shut up about it. We’d be eating dinner or watching a hockey game and all this kid would do is babble about the Milky Way. Annoying at first, but hell, that kid was smart.”

“I dunno, I hope the doctors are wrong,” Lip said quietly. “Fiona’s taking him back soon. I hope this all just goes away. After everything with Ian…”

“After what with Ian?” Kev and Lip looked up to see Mickey walking towards the bar. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Lip said, taking another drink. “He told you? About Liam?”

“Oh. Yeah. Shitty.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey turned to Kev. “You ask him yet?”

“No, Mick. Bad time.”

Lip looked at both of them. “Ask me what?”

“We got a problem,” Mickey said, sitting down on the stool next to him. “We gotta shut the business upstairs down.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“What are we supposed to do with a dozen out of work Russian hookers?” Kev asked.

Lip shrugged. “Who cares?”

“Come on, man. We gotta do something for them.”

Lip looked confused. “No you don’t. They’ll just find some other pimp somewhere. Or freelance. They’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” Kev admitted. “But I don’t want to send them off to some pimp out there. What if he doesn’t treat them right?”

“Jesus Kev, they’re prostitutes,” Lip said with a laugh. “You wanna find them somewhere with a dental plan?”

“Come on, man,” Kev said sternly, “don’t be an asshole about it.”

“I’ve got my own problems,” Lip muttered, “so do you, for that matter. Why are we making more for ourselves again?”

“Look,” Mickey spoke up, “Sasha – their old pimp – she’s getting real fired up about competition. I hear she’s trying to take out any place that’s charging less than she is. I don’t think she knows about us yet.”

“We’re not exactly well established,” Kev said with a modest shrug.

“But these girls might not have a ton of places to go looking for work anymore.”

Lip looked at Mickey, confused. “And why do you care? Why is this any of your business?”

Mickey sighed. “I took their old jobs from them, okay? Besides, Svetlana would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t have some kind of plan.”

“Okay,” Lip said, humouring him. “So what’s the plan?”

“That’s where you come in,” Kev grinned, leaning across the bar.

“What? No. No way. I got enough shit to deal with.”

“There’s money in it,” Mickey added quickly.

Lip tapped his knuckles on the bar while he thought for a minute. “So what’s this plan?”

* * *

Frank made it to the kitchen for lunch. Sammi set the table while Sheila finished slicing the vegetables. Chucky sat in front of the TV, watching some bad talk show. Frank propped his head up on his hand and leaned on the table as he sat there.

“How you feeling today, Dad?” Sammi asked, setting a plate and napkin in front of him.

“Crummy,” Frank grumbled.

“Sheila says you’ve been drinking,” she said pointedly.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sheils, you told on me?”

“We want you to get better, sweetie!” she sang from the kitchen.

Sammi stood beside him with her hand on her hip. “You gotta stop this, Dad. The doctor said it’ll dilute your meds and stress your new liver. If you want to get better, you need to stop.”

“You’re not the first person to give me this speech, you know,” he said, sounding bored and tired. “It takes more than this to kill off a Gallagher.”

“Well, you’ve got an appointment with the doctor on Wednesday. You’re going, and so are me and Sheila.”

Frank looked at Sheila as she bustled out of the kitchen, carrying a salad bowl. “I thought you two hated each other,” he said flatly.

“Oh, Frank!” Sheila laughed, smiling too wide. “We don’t hate each other, silly.”

“We do,” Sammi admitted with a shrug. “But we’re putting our differences aside to make sure you get better.”

Sheila sat down at the table and tucked herself in, heaping salad onto Frank’s plate. “That’s all we want, Franky. Eat this, it’s got kale in it. Very good for you.”

Frank wrinkled his nose.

Sammi sat down, too. “ _Chucky_!” she cried, “ _lunch_!”  

Chucky ran up to the table and sat down next to Sammi, heaping his plate full of chicken and avoiding the salad when Frank caught his eye and shook his head warningly.

 “Look Dad,” Sammi went on, turning back to Frank. “If you need help, I can get you into A.A. or find you a counsellor or someone who can –”

Frank laughed. “Been to A.A. Got the chips to prove it.”

“You need to start thinking seriously about your health.”

“That’s a bit rich coming from the woman who used to score me heroin. What happened to the god old days, Sammi?”

“I thought you were going to die!”

“A lady at school said heroin gives you AIDS,” Chucky said bluntly. “Does Grandpa have AIDS now?”

“No!” Sammi cried. “Well… probably not.”

Sheila spread her napkin delicately over her lap. “You know, Frank, I wish you could see all the things you have instead of everything you don’t.”

Frank looked out at her from under his droopy eyelids. “Whaddya mean?”

“Well,” she went on, cocking her head to one side as if she were thinking, “I know you’ve been down since that fight with Fiona.”

Frank waved his hands in front of him. “No, no, no. We’re not going there. Let’s not spoil this lovely… kale.”

“I know you miss your family,” Sheila said firmly, but kindly. “I know, deep down, you want them to be with you. But Frank, look around you, you have people who love you right here. Not realizing that is what happened the first time. And look how bad that made you feel.”

Frank blinked slowly a few times. “You think my kids loved me and I just didn’t know it? They didn’t, little rats.”

Sheila shook her head sadly. “Oh, Franky. You know they did. They do. But it’s hard – it’s almost impossible – to keep on loving someone who never shows you any love back.”

This made Frank angry; not because he didn’t know it was the truth, but that she was making him think about it at all. He needed a drink. “Is that why,” he asked slowly, “you sent Karen away? Couldn’t deal with her bullshit anymore?”

All of the colour drained from Sheila’s face. “You… you know why… don’t say that… not about…”

Sammi looked at the both, confused. “Who’s Karen?”

Sheila folded up her napkin and placed it neatly on the table. “Excuse me.” She pushed herself away from the table, went up into her room, and didn’t leave her bed for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

“Here’s the plan,” Mickey said, leaning forward on his barstool beside Lip. “We gotta make these girls citizens. Then they can look for actual work. Get credit cards and mortgages or whatever.”

“So you need fake IDs? Papers and shit?” Lip asked.

“No,” Kev said, “we wanna do it right.”

Lip looked back to Mickey. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. But Svetlana had a point.”

“Svetlana?” Lip repeated incredulously. “This is all your hooker of a wife’s idea?”

“Hey, it’s her life we’re fucking with. And her paycheck,” Mickey said seriously. “Which I happen to fucking care about.”

“Fine, all right. Svet-what’s-her-name…”

“ _Svetlana_ ,” Kev said.

“Whatever. She wants to become an American citizen.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, nodding. “Her and the other girls.”

“Shit, that’s a lot of work. You want it done for real, too? How am I supposed to do that?”

Kev shrugged. “You go to college. You make and fancy law-friends yet? Kids studying this kinda shit?”

“No,” Lip admitted. “Can’t I say I’ve made a ton of friends.”

“Think about it,” Mickey said sternly. “You come up with someone, send him our way.”

“That it?” Lip asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Kev said.

“Of course not.”

“We need to get them educated,” Mickey went on.

Lip had to laugh. “Educated? What, you want to enroll them in high school or something?”

“Nah, man. But they gotta speak English and shit, right?”

Kev was nodding along with Mickey. “Isn’t there some test? When you become a citizen, don’t they make you memorize the presidents or something?”

“Shit, I don’t know,” Lip said taking a swig of beer. “You want me to teach them?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah, man. Two classes a week, one hour each. Five bucks per girl per lesson. If all of them are game, that’s…” He counted on his fingers. “That’s like $120. Not bad.”

“ _Yes_ bad,” Lip countered. “I don’t have two hours to spend making next to nothing.”

“You’d be doing me a favour,” Kev said earnestly.

Lip sighed. “You had to play that card, eh?”

Kev shrugged. “Depends on if it works or not.”

Lip thought for a minute. There was so fucking much going on he wasn’t sure if giving himself more work was a great idea. But hey, it was a distraction. “Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”

Both Kev and Mickey smiled. “Thanks man!” Kev laughed.

“But this beer’s on the house,” Lip said, pointing to his now-empty glass.

“Sure thing.”

“And the next one.”

“Don’t push it.”

Mickey stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Hey, I’m serious. You think of anyone who has experience with all this immigration shit, you tell me. Those girls are illegal aliens or whatever. They could be deported if we fuck up.”

“Yeah, cool,” Lip said as Mickey left. He bit his lip as Kev poured him anther drink – he _did_ know someone who had dealt with this sort of shit before. And it just so happened Lip knew he was back in town. For the second time that week, he decided to keep his mouth shut about fucking Jimmy.

* * *

“No, keep your head up.”

“It looks cool when I do this.”

“Getting your ass handed to you isn’t going to look cool,” Ian said teasingly, cuffing Carl lightly over the head. “Boxing is all about form. Now, head up, hands up, feet apart. Good. Square your shoulders.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, great.”

Lip walked into the bedroom that he had once shared with his brothers and started rummaging through the dresser. “Have you guys seen my grey sweater?” he asked distractedly. “The one without the holes?”

“Nope,” said Ian, repositioning Carl’s hands so that they were up higher. “Just like that,” he told him.

Lip looked over at them. “You guys need gloves,” he pointed out.

“I’ll find some somewhere,” Ian shrugged.

Lip just nodded and watched Carl punch at Ian’s open palms for a while.

“Hey Lip,” Carl said as he jabbed, “can you get protein powder?”

Lip screwed up his face. “What do you want that for?”

“I’m gunna get fit. Ian’s gunna help me.”

“Oh. Um, no, I don’t even know where to get that shit,” Lip said.

“It’s expensive,” Ian admitted.

Carl shrugged. “I’ll just swipe some.”

Lip gave the room one last look. “I’m gunna go see if my sweater’s somewhere in Fiona’s room,” he said as he left.

Carl kept punching for a while.

“I’m surprised your so into this. I thought I was gunna have to bug you to train with me,” Ian said. He tried not to think about how put off by him Carl had seemed before – about the sidelong glances and the stash of razors hidden in his sock drawer. That seemed to have passed, though. Ian was just Ian again. For Carl, at least.

Carl kept on jabbing. “I want to get good at fighting.”

Ian sighed exasperatedly. “That’s not what this is about, I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Don’t go picking fights at school or whatever.”

“I’m not.”

“So no one’s gunna call Fiona tomorrow saying you gave some kid a black eye?”

Carl concentrated on his movements, trying to keep his body exactly the way Ian had told him to. “Nope. Not going to school tomorrow anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“Got suspended.”

Ian dropped his hands. “Seriously, Carl? Since when? Does Fiona even know?”

“No. Who cares if she does? I faked her signature on that stupid form, it’s fine.”

“What you get suspended for?”

Carl shrugged and put his fists up again. “Let’s keep going.”

“Not until you tell me why you got suspended. You can’t just start a story and not finish it.”

“Fine,” Carl huffed, “I will. Just… let’s keep going.”

Ian put his hands back up.

Carl threw a couple careful punches, bouncing all on the balls of his feet. Ian didn’t correct him this time; he just let Carl talk as he focused on hitting Ian’s out-turned palms. “So, there are these kids at school,” he said, breathing hard as he moved, “and they’re just assholes. They were talking shit so I gave them a beat down.”

“Talking shit? What was so bad you had to get into a fight because of it?”

“Just shit, okay?”

“What shit?”

“Why do you care?” Carl asked, still focusing on how he was moving, staring fixedly at the targets Ian was giving him.

“Because. I’m not going to teach you to fight for real if you’re just gunna use it to wail on kids.”

“They deserved to get wailed on.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter, just forget it.”

“ _Why_ , Carl?”

Carl dropped his fists and finally met Ian’s eye. “They called you a fag,” he said flatly, still breathing hard. He tried to keep his face blank, but Ian could see the shine in his eyes, the quick rise and fall of his chest that had nothing to do with boxing.

“Oh,” Ian said softly. He shook his head. “Look… I know… I know that might have embarrassed you or –”

“I’m _not_ embarrassed,” Carl said fiercely.

“People are always gunna be assholes about me being gay. You just can’t let it get to you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“If I ran around beating up every jerk out there who said that shit, I’d never do anything else.”

“They called Debbie a slut,” Carl went on quickly, words just spilling out of him. He was still breathing hard, though he had stopped moving completely. “And L-Liam… they said he was retarded. That it was Fiona’s fault.”

Ian ran his hand over his face. “Fuck.” He sat down on the bed.

Carl came and sat beside him, staring at his feet. “They deserved what they got.”

“Yeah,” Ian admitted bluntly. “Yeah, they probably did. But it’s not for you to give them what they deserve.”

Carl looked over at Ian, shaking his head. “Who else would? And don’t say a teacher. They always say to tell a teacher. I’ve been told on so many times and nothing ever happens. Nothing real, anyways.”

“Tell me, then,” Ian said, ruffling Carl’s hair. “I’ll help you sort it out, without getting suspended every other week, all right?” He nudged his brother playfully. “Just trust me on this.”

Carl gave him a weak smile. “Fine.” He jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m gunna go down to the Kash ‘n’ Grab and get some protein powder. Do they have that there?”

Ian shrugged. “No clue what’s there now.”

Carl just shrugged and left, grabbing his hat off the dresser and pulling it over his head.

Ian sat there for a minute after he was gone, lighting a cigarette and trying to think of a way to scare a bunch of preteens out of insulting his family without getting arrested, when Lip walked back in. He leaned in the doorway. “Your little plan working?”

“Think so,” said Ian, tipping his head back a bit as he exhaled smoke.

“Good. Talked to Mickey the other day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Wants me to help him figure how to make all his whores citizens.”

Ian smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, he told me about that.” He set his smoke carefully on the rim of a coffee mug he’d been using as an ashtray.

“It’s insane,” Lip said simply.

“He just wants to help them.”

“He’s gunna end up fucking up his own life for them. Why bother? That’s not like Mickey.”

“You don’t know anything about Mickey,” Ian said defensively. “He’s got a fucking heart.”

“Right,” Lip nodded, sounding unconvinced. “Of course. And you’d know.”

Ian stood up, wondering how Lip had managed to piss him off so quickly. “You know, you’ve been a real fucking douchebag lately.”

Lip straightened himself up and crossed his arms. “Me? _I’ve_ been a douchebag?”

“Yeah!” Ian took a step forward, fighting the urge to smack the look Lip was giving him clean off his face. “You hardly even speak to me, and when you do, you’re a dick. What did I fucking do to you?”

Lip half snorted, half laughed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!”

“For starters, you stole my fucking identity.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Lip took a step into the room. “I’m not. You know, two guys in army fatigues came to my school to fucking look for me. Cornered me in a bathroom, said _I_ went AWOL.”

“That’s what you’re pissed about? Two guys asked you some questions?”

“Yeah, and I covered for your ass. I mean, you could have at least told me what you were doing, given me a heads up. And that’s not gunna be the last of it, Ian. It’s the _army_. They don’t just stop looking for people. Those guys told me they’d be in touch. How are they not going to figure out you’re my brother?”

“Relax, okay? I sorted all that out.”

Lip raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“How?”

 “None of your business.”

“Kinda is,” Lip pointed out, “since it was done with my name.”

“Just don’t worry about it. Are we done now?”

“Not even close.” Lip took another step forward, finally deciding to let everything that had been boiling up inside him out. “What about you fucking disappearing on us? That was horseshit.”

“I texted you!” Ian cried. “You knew –”

“We didn’t know shit! Not where you were, if you were coming back, why you were gone. Just that you were alive. Probably. You didn’t answer _any_ of my fucking calls.”

“I was in the army, Lip. They don’t love it when you take personal calls.”

“And there was never any time ever for you to let you family know where you were? Bullshit, Ian! And what about when you left the army? Didn’t bother calling then, either? Telling us you were with fucking _Monica_?”

Ian clenched his jaw, trying to give himself a moment to calm down.

“And how is she?” Lip went on. “How’s Mom doing?”

“Fucking horrible. It was fucking horrible, okay? Everything about it… everything was so fucked up…” Ian lowered his head, flexing and relaxing his right hand over and over again.

“I know it was. I came and found you, remember? Me and Debbie. We tracked you down through Jimmy’s dad.”

Ian’s head shot up. “You talked to Ned?”

“Yeah. Before I found you at that fucking bar. Did you know that was the night Liam OD’ed? Fiona’s birthday. That’s why I wasn’t fucking home; I was out looking for you!”

Ian started at Lip for another moment, trying to work out what he was saying. “Are you blaming me? For _that_?”

“If I was home,” Lip said slowly, lowering his voice “It wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh my God!” Ian through his hands up, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Give me a fucking break, you’d have been doing coke _with_ Fiona!”

“I would have watched him!”

“And instead you came for me,” Ian said quietly. “Sorry you made the wrong choice.”

Lip shook his head. “There was so much shit, Ian. So much shit I had to deal with.”

“Right. Cause I wasn’t dealing with anything at all.”

“Fiona was in jail!” Lip cried. “Liam was in intensive care! I fucking needed you!”

“ _I_ needed you!” Ian yelled back. “Fuck off, Lip! Don’t act like I did this all on purpose!”

Lip took a step back and shook his head again. “Right. You just ran away by accident. Missed fucking Christmas. Fiona was a mess; she said you’d never miss a family holiday.”

“Will you just fucking go away?” Ian snapped, turning away from him grabbing his cigarette. “I’m not talking about this anymore. Not with you.”

“Don’t get mad because I’m telling you the truth. I’m not gunna treat you like you’re made of glass. You’re _not_.”

Ian grabbed his coat off the bed post and shoved his phone and wallet into his pocket. “Don’t bother treating me like anything at all,” he muttered, shoving past Lip and walking into the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“Mickey’s.”

“Great!” Lip called from the top was the stairs as Ian went. “Just leave again! You’re great at it!”

Ian slammed the front door behind him and turned around to punch the side of the house, bloodying his knuckles. It didn’t help.

           


	5. Be Nice to Yourself

It was early when Fiona pushed through the doors of the waffle house, so the breakfast crowd was still there. It was slowly getting warmer outside, but wet boots had still managed to drag the grime from the street onto the floor of the diner. The staff seemed busy and she didn’t have much time, but she made her way to the counter at back where a few waitresses rushed around, pouring coffee and handing out plates of bacon and eggs.

Fiona stood in front of the counter and nervously smoothed down her hair. “Can I get you something?” asked one of the distracted waitresses with her head down as she refilled a few mugs of coffee.

Fiona dug through the back slung across her shoulder. “No thanks. Could I speak with your manager please?”

“He’s not in right now. Anything I can help you with?” the girl asked as she fished through her pockets for extra packets of sugar.

Fiona looked up suddenly, recognizing that voice. “Mandy?”

Mandy stood still behind the counter, a half-full coffee pot in hand, and finally looked at who she was talking to. “Oh,” she said softly, “hi.”

“I didn’t recognize you,” Fiona admitted.  “You have your hair back.”

“Yeah.”

Fiona stood there, taking in Mandy’s excellent makeup job and the fact that it still didn’t quite hide everything. Ian had told her - but it was one thing to hear it, another to see it. Then Fiona remembered the reason she was there at all. Holding out a piece of paper, she said, “I’m looking for a second job. Do you think you could give my resume to your boss?”

Mandy took it hesitantly. “Sure, I guess. Fair warning, he’s an asshole.”

“That’s fine. You have no idea the kinds of bosses I’ve had. Once, when I worked at the grocery store –”

“Hey sweetheart!” someone called from the other end of the counter. “Can I get some ketchup over here?”

A wide, fake grin immediately spread over Mandy’s face. “Absolutely!” she cried, stashing Fiona’s resume under the counter and heading over.

Fiona stood there awkwardly for a minute. She had never like Mandy – hell, she had all but hated her when she was practically living with Lip – but still, the cut on Mandy’s  lip and the faded bruise around her eye broke Fiona’s heart. No one deserved that.

Mandy came back, tightening her apron. “Anything else?” she asked. “Want a coffee?”

“No thanks, I gotta get going. Gunna pass a few more of these out before I head to work.”

“Have you tried online? Job websites and stuff? I hear that’s the best way to find work. It’s how I found this,” Mandy said with a shrug, stacking some plates.

“I have been, but no bites. It’s hard when you have a criminal record. Nobody wants you.”

Mandy nodded understandingly. “I’ll give this to Ray, okay? He’s the manager. I’ll put in a good word.”

Fiona smiled, feeling relived. “Thanks, Mandy. Really.”

Mandy gave her a last nod and turned away to head back into the kitchen.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Fiona called. Mandy turned back around. “I just…” Fiona began awkwardly, “I just wanted to say, Ian told me what you did. He told me you’re the one who got Lip into college.”

Mandy’s face turned bright red. “No, I … I only filled out forms and stuff. No big deal.”

“It is, though. You’re the reason he’s there and not at home selling pot for grocery money.”

Mandy just shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

“And Ian,” Fiona went on carefully. “I know you and Mickey looked after him. When he was… you know. Depressed. I know you really love him. And I just… I just wanted to say thank you, Mandy. My brothers owe you a lot. So do I.”

Mandy wasn’t sure what to say; she just stared at Fiona, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her apron. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“Seriously. Thank you.”

 Mandy shrugged again, staring at her white tennis shoes. “You’re welcome.”

 Fiona gave her a last small, grateful smile and turned to leave. But she stopped herself, turning around one last time. “Do me one more favour, Mandy. Be nice to yourself, okay?”

 Mandy watched as Fiona left, wondering what they hell that was supposed to mean.

 

* * *

 

Lip stood outside Amanda’s Human Evaluation class and waited as the swarm of undergrads trudging their way out of the lecture hall began to thin before he spotted her.

“Hey!” he called, dodging a few chatting girls. “Amanda! Amanda, wait up.”

Amanda spun around, her books clutched to her chest, a pen tucked behind her ear. She seemed completely unimpressed. “You look awful,” she said bluntly.

“Rough couple of days,” Lip admitted, trying to smooth down his wild hair. “Haven’t been sleeping well. Ian and I had this –”

“What do you want?” she interrupted.

“Nothing. How did your class go?”

“Fine. I was kind of lost at first, since I switched into it late, but it’s pretty easy. I like it, though,” she added quickly, still ready to defend her choice.

“Cool, I’m glad. Prof good?”

“Pretty good.” Amanda started to head for the door. Lip followed her.

“Glad you’re talking to me again,” he said with a lop-sided grin.

Amanda didn’t bother to look at him as she said, “didn’t really have a choice, you snuck up on me.”

“Can we stop this now?” he asked, struggling to keep up with her as a wave of stressed out and tired-looking chemical engineering students began to gather in front of them. Lip pushed past a few of them, determined not to let Amanda out of his sight. “I shouldn’t have said that shit, okay? I’m sorry. Now can we go back to… to being normal again?”

“Normal? When we were ever _normal_?” she scoffed, still staring straight ahead. “When we conned ten grand out of my parents? Or way back when I blew you in front of my sleeping boyfriend?”

“I’m just trying to make this right, okay? We can’t fight forever. I’m trying to fix this. I’m here now and I want to fix this.”

Amanda finally stopped walking and turned to face him.  Her eyes were softer now, as she looked up at him, and her mouth curved gently into something like a smile. “That’s just what you do, isn’t it? Fix things?”

“Not really. Just what’s worth fixing.”

That did make Amanda smile. “You’re really sorry?” she asked seriously.

“Yes. I was a dick.”

“You were. But it’s all right. I’m sick of fighting, too. My friend Sadie is having a party in a few days. You should come.”

Lip smiled. He took his hands out of his pockets and pulled Amanda close, kissing her on her forehead. “Cool.”

“Cool,” she agreed.

They started to head outside again, this time beside each other. In a fit of gallantry, Lip took Amanda’s books for her. “Hey,” he said as they walked out into the chilly quad, “I could use your help with something.”

“What?”

“I kinda… volunteered for something. I’m gunna teach these sort of… ESL classes. Wanna help me?”

“ESL? How’d you get roped into that?”

Lip shrugged. “Long story.”

“Okay. I mean, how bad could it be? Is it a group of kids?”

“Nope,” he said lightly as they stepped outside, “Russian hookers.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sammi knocked tentatively on the door to the room she’d never been in. “Sheila?” she called quietly. “Sheila, are you in here?”  She pushed the door open and found Sheila sitting on the bed, looking at a photograph.

 The room was pink and white, with posters and pictures tacked up on the walls. It must have been Karen’s room, Sammi realized. She’d managed to get most of that story from Frank. Still, seeing Sheila sit there on her daughter’s empty bed made even Sammi feel bad for her.

“Hey,” Sammi said as she took a step forward. “I’m going to go to the grocery store. Do you want me to pick you up anything?”

Sheila didn’t look up from the picture. “No thanks.”

Sammi debated leaving her alone, but something in her made her stay and sit down beside Sheila. She looked over at the picture Sheila held. It was of Sheila, looking younger and happier, sitting beside a little blond girl outside. “Is that Karen?” Sammi asked.

Sheila nodded. “She was only ten here.”

“She’s cute.”

“Yes. She was very beautiful. Still is.”

Sammi looked over at her, feeling awful. Then she took a second and looked around the room, at the pictures on the walls. Some were of Karen and a few other girls she didn’t know. One was of Karen and a middle aged man with his arm around her –it must have her father. It looked as though it had been crumpled up and smoothed out again. One picture showed Karen smiling next to a tall man with long hair by a motorcycle. Most of the pictures were of Lip. “Who’s the Asian baby?” Sammi finally asked, more for something to fill the silence than anything else.

“Oh, that’s Hymie. Karen’s son.” Sheila sniffled. “They’re together now.”

Sammi just nodded; she had no idea what she was supposed to say.

“It’s so quiet here without them,” Sheila went on. “I miss them both so much.”

“Don’t you ever get to see them?” Sammi asked gently.

“I talk to Karen on the phone every night,” Sheila said with another sniffle, still looking at the picture and softly rubbing her thumb over Karen’s young face. “After her accident she had trouble remembering things. But I read her fairy tales – she used to love fairy tales when she was young. She almost remembers then endings now.”

“And how is she doing? Is she getting better?”

Sheila nodded, finally looking back at Sammi. “Yes, much better. Jody says she’s walking around now. Her memory’s better. She laughs now.”

Sammi smiled. “That’s great.”

Sheila wiped her nose with a tissue she clutched in her hand. “She’ll come home, one day. That’s why I’m keeping her room for her. She’ll come home, back to me. She always does.”

Sammi bit her lip, wanting to ask the question that’s been on her mind since Frank had told her what had happened, but not wanting to upset Sheila. Finally, she said, “why didn’t you… go with her? I mean, if Karen and her baby left, why didn’t you leave, too?”

Sheila closed her eyes and two tears splashed onto the glass of the picture frame she still clutched. “I wanted to keep her home for her. I wanted her to have somewhere familiar and safe to come back to. But… but really…” Sheila sniffled again. “I was very scared. I hadn’t been away from home for a very long time.”

“And you didn’t want to leave for good?”

Sheila nodded.

“But you did leave, for those Indian kids,” Sammi couldn’t help but point out. “You left for a while.”

“I know. I got too lonely. I had to do something.”

“You should visit them,” Sammi suggested. “You should go see Karen and Hymen.”

“ _Hymie_ ,” Sheila corrected.

 “Right. It’ll make you feel better. And you could read to Karen for real.”

Sheila fiddled nervously with her new wedding ring as she spoke, still looking down at the picture on her lap. “It’s just… I’d have to fly out to them. I’m so scared of flying. It’s a _terrible_ fear, really. Once, a few years back, part of a jet engine nearly fell on my head.” She looked back over at Sammi now. “Did I ever tell you that? Scared me half to death. I didn’t leave the house again for ages.”

Sammi placed a hand on Sheila’s shoulder. “Sheila, for all our differences, even I have to admit you’re a very strong person.  You love your daughter. I’m sure you’d do anything for her – that you’d be _able_ to do anything for her. If you need to see her, go.”

Sheila nodded, a faint smile on her face now. “You’re right. Frank never really understood how hard it was for me. I could never talk to him about it. And – this may come as a surprise to you – but I don’t have very many close friends.”

Sammi raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Very shocking.”

“Well…” Sheila used the back of her hand to clear away the tear streaks on her cheeks. “Thank you. For talking to me. It’s sort of nice having another mom to talk to.”

Sammi gave Sheila a smile. “No problem. Kids are important.”

Sheila shut her eyes again, pressed the picture to her chest, and leaned her head on Sammi’s shoulder. “My Karen,” she murmured.

 

* * *

 

It was Tuesday. Lip hurried through the doors of the clinic waiting room, his backpack slung over on shoulder. 

Fiona waved him over. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered harshly. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“It’s fine,” Lip said, slightly out of breath as he sat down. “This is more important.”

“Did you get to study last night?”

“Not really. I’m helping Kev with something.”

“Lip,” Fiona said warningly. “You need to - ”

“It’s fine, Fi,” he promised quickly.

“Okay, then have you spoken to Ian? You two have been so weird lately.”

Lip grabbed a pamphlet on proper hand washing techniques and pretended to read it. “We’re fine. He’s just being…”

“Give him a break, all right? Promise me that you two will –”

“Hey, relax, okay? Worry about one brother at a time,” he said, motioning over to Liam was played with an old plastic train on the carpet.

Fiona let it go, but still didn’t seem satisfied.

When they finally did make it to see the doctor, Liam was getting cranky. Lip held him on his lap and tried to keep him occupied as Fiona went over medical charts, explained and re-explained what the other doctor had told her, and finally talked about the night of her birthday.

The doctor eyed her for a minute, sizing her up. “Yes. I see here that his brain scan came back normal. But, _cocaine_. There are going to be negative consequences, even if they don’t make themselves apparent until much later in Liam’s life. It was incredibly irresponsible to – ”

“Yes,” Fiona said quickly, “yes, I know, I just –”

“I have young children myself,” the doctor went on importantly, “and I would never expose them to something like that. I won’t even let people smoke in the same room as them.”

Fiona absently pressed her hand to her forehead, her heart racing in her chest. “I understand, we already –”

“The fact that the state has left you as Liam’s guardian is completely –”

“We’re not paying you to lecture us,” Lip snapped suddenly. “We know what happened. We don’t need you to explain it. Now, how about we talk about what we came here for?”

The doctor narrowed his eyes at Lip. “Yes, well. I’m only looking out for Liam’s wellbeing.”

“Great. So are we,” Lip answered fiercely “So now that we’re all on the same page, how about you tell us if our little brother is autistic?”

Shaking his head, the doctor flipped through a few pages on his chart. Liam reached out his arms to Fiona, who took him on her lap and pulled a juice box out of her bag.

“I can’t really say after only meeting him once. But looking through his records, nothing is jumping out at me.” He looked back up. “You said he has no repetitive behaviours?”

“Not really,” Fiona said, shifting Liam to her other knee.

“And nothing he fixates on?”

Lip shook his head. “Not more than other four year olds. I mean, he really likes that Diego show, but…”

“We’re concerned he’s not speaking much,” Fiona said. “And he doesn’t socialize much.”

The doctor nodded. “That could be any number of things. My mind doesn’t jump to autism. Does he go to school?”

“He’ll start in September,” Fiona answered.

“That might help with the social issues. As for his verbal abilities, you say he can talk, he just doesn’t?”

Lip shrugged. “Unless it’s to one of us.”

The doctor nodded, thinking. “You know, he could just be shy. I mean, honestly, autism seems like a big jump for me.”

“Really?” Fiona asked, her eyes lighting up. “So… so he doesn’t have it?”

“I didn’t say that. But his brain scans are normal, he’s physically healthy, he reacts well, he’s alert and attentive… I’d say, I’m not worried. Wait until he’s in school and see if any of problems present themselves.”

“So you want us to wait and see?” Lip asked, leaning back in his seat, unimpressed. “Come on doc, give us more than that.”

The doctor shrugged. “It’s all I have to give, Mr. Gallagher.”

“What if he were your son?” Fiona asked, leaning forward. “You said you had kids. If Liam was your son, what would you do?”

“Honestly? Get in interacting with other kids. Encourage him to do things for himself. Younger siblings can be quieter when they’re little because they have older siblings who take care of everything for them. Make him communicate verbally and see if he improves. Other than that, I’d make him eat his vegetables and keep an eye out for any changes in health or behaviour.”

Fiona looked so happy she seemed about to float out of her chair. “Seriously? Thank you! Thank you so much!” Fiona stood up, placed Liam on the ground, and grabbed her bag. Lip took Liam’s hand.

“Don’t thank him just yet,” Lip said – though he was smiling, too. “We still have to go pay.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was around noon when Carl decided to leave. Fiona and Lip had taken Liam to the clinic, Debbie was at school, and Ian was probably still at Mickey’s. He grabbed his coat and felt in his pocket for change. He’d try to sneak onto the bus, but just in case he made sure he had enough for the fair. He had work to do. 

The homeless guy who hung around the park had told him that he’d seen a van full of kids in St. Angela’s parking lot a few days before. This didn’t make much sense to Carl – the church wasn’t far from the school, so why wouldn’t Bonnie and her brothers and sisters come back to school if that’s where they were living?

Either way, he needed to go check it out.

He was just pulling his hat down over his ears when he head footsteps behind him. “Where are you going?”

Carl spun around. “Debbie? Why aren’t you at school?”

“Could ask you the same question,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Fiona _knows_ I’m home,” Debbie snapped annoyingly. “I called her because I had cramps.”

“Gross.”

“Shut up.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “I’m busy. I have to go.”

“Where?” Debbie asked, taking a step forward.

“None of your business.”

“I’ll tell Fiona you’re home if you don’t tell me where you’re going.”

Carl rounded on her. “Why are you being such a dick about this? Just be cool for once in your life.”

Debbie folded her arms firmly across her chest. “I’ve had enough of my stupid family acting all shady. It always ends badly. Are you on _drugs_ , Carl?”

“No! Relax. I’m… I’m going to look for Bonnie, okay?”

Debbie sighed, exasperated. “Again?”

Carl just stared back at her, confused.

“It’s so obvious that’s what you’ve been doing ever since she left. I don’t know why you have to act like it’s some big secret. You miss your girlfriend.”

Carl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, awkwardly. “She’s not… she’s not my girlfriend. It’s… whatever, okay? Just piss off.”

Debbie pushed past him to grab her own coat. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“What?”

“I know love can be rough, little bro. You could probably use the company. Besides, two pairs of eyes are better than one, right?”

“Um… I guess?”

Debbie held the door open for him. “Then let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell are you wearing?” Lip asked as Fiona came downstairs after putting Liam down for a nap. “We’re making a good impression, no entertaining the queen. 

“It’s called a maxi dress,” Fiona said defensively. “I borrowed it from V.”

Lip put the broom down and handed Fiona a rag. “It’s pretty nice.”

“It hides my ankle monitor,” Fiona admitted as she dusted. “We want to make a good impression, right?”

The two stepped back and looked at their handy work. The house was a clean as it was going to get. The social worker would be there any minute.

It was the first time since coming back from prison that Fiona would be meeting with Wesley Gretsky, their case worker. She took the afternoon off, determined to prove she was a good guardian. She had even made brownies.

Lip could see the anxiety on her face as she straightened the pictures on the mantle. “Relax,” he said soothingly. “It’ll be fine. She’s not that bad. All our chemicals are locked up, I fixed the stairs last week, and there’s nothing illegal anywhere. Except my sock drawer. But she won’t look in there. Probably.”

Fiona had to smile. “If you get us in trouble…” she said teasingly.

“Me? Come on, I’m a saint. Besides,” he said as someone knocked on the door, “me and the social worker go way back.”

A knock at the door.

Fiona took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I always hated that kid.” 

“Hate is a little strong, come on.”

“I _do_. That nerd gets under my fucking skin.”

Mickey and Ian sat on Mickey's sofa, smoking and talking about the fight Ian and Lip had had.  Ian wanted to ignore it, to act like nothing happened - Lip certainly was. But it was eating Ian up. He didn’t want to burden his family with even more drama and with Mandy staying as far away as she could from anything Lip-related, so Mickey was the only one he could really talk to about it.

“Stay here as long as you want,” Mickey went on casually. “You don't need to be around that asshole.”

“He mostly stays at his dorm.”

Mickey shrugged. “Stay here anyways.”

Ian grinned mischievously. “What, you miss me?”

“Didn't say that.”

“Didn't have to.” Ian moved closer to Mickey, lightly kissing his ear and side of his neck.

Mickey laughed, pushing Ian away. “Fine. I miss you. Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Mickey moved and kissed Ian’s mouth. “I'm glad. Hey - you doing that thing the doctor told you to? The diary?”

Ian rolled his eyes and leaned back on the sofa, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. “Let's not talk about that right now.”

“So you're not doing it,” Mickey concluded. 

“It's stupid. Even you said it was stupid.”

“Come on, Ian. If they said to do it, maybe you should.”

Ian shook his head, annoyed. “I'm taking my meds, I'm not drinking, I hardly smoke any weed. I'm doing everything right. Give me a break, okay? I feel better.”

“Just because you _feel_ better...”

Ian ran his hand over his face and sighed exaggeratedly. “When did this become about me being sick? I don't wanna talk about it. I just... I just want to be with you, okay?”

Mickey nodded, not taking his eyes off Ian’s face. “Sure. It's just... I've gotta... I need to make sure...”

“I know you you're trying to help but – “

“I told you I'd take care of you,” Mickey interrupted forcefully, finally seeming to find his voice. “I'm going to. You don't need me to, but I'm going to. Even if it means making you do dumb shit like keep a diary.”

Ian thought for a minute. “It's really important to you, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

Ian rolled his eyes again, but this time he smiled. “Fine. I guess I'll do it then. You gunna read it?”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Not if you don't want me to.”

“‘Dear Diary’,” Ian teased, still smiling, “ ‘my boyfriend hates my brother. Dear Diary, my boyfriend is making me write about my feelings...’”

“You're such a dweeb,” Mickey grinned, shaking his head and taking a smoke. “Hey, you wanna grab a pizza for dinner? Svetlana and that chick she's banging are out with the kid and Mandy's working.”

“Can't. Told Fiona I'd come for dinner.”

“Oh.”

“You can come, too,” Ian said quickly. “It's just, I dunno... things have been complicated. I should be there for the others, even if it's just for dinner.”

“That's cool. You go. I've got some calls to make. Gotta sort out this whole citizenship situation.

Anyways, don't want to run into Lip. I'd knock him out if I saw him, but I still need him to teach those Russians English. See you tonight, though?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Ian looked so perfect, sitting across from him with his puppy-dog eyes and stupid smile, promising he’d come back to him, that Mickey couldn't help but wrap his hand around the back of Ian's head and kiss him.

Ian pressed his forehead against Mickey's. “‘Dear Diary’,” he whispered with a soft laugh, “‘my boyfriend’s such a softy’.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost dark by the time Debbie and Carl started heading home. They had asked around at the church – apparently Bonnie and her family _had_ been there, but they left two days ago. Someone mentioned something about her little brother having a bad cough, so they checked the hospitals and clinics and any parking lots nearby. Debbie asked shopkeepers and Carl dug through garbage bins, but still nothing.

“Come on,” Debbie said solemnly. “It’s getting cold.”

Carl kicked a clump of dirty ice out of his path, staring at his feet. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to; Debbie could read him easily enough. “You know, it’s not your fault she’s gone or anything. Honestly, it probably has nothing to do with you at all. Maybe her mom got a new job somewhere or something.”

“Then why isn’t she at _school_?” Carl demanded, still looking down.

“I… um…”

“She _did_ leave because of me,” he spat. “Because I was so stupid.”

“What’d you do?”

Carl shook his head. “Just forget it.”

Debbie shrugged. “Fine.”

“Talk about something else.”

“Okay. How’s boxing going? Ian said you’re getting pretty good.”

They made it to the bus stop and sat down on the bench. They were the only ones there. A light snow started to fall just as the streetlights came on. “Boxing’s cool,” Carl answered. “We were supposed to start getting up early and going for runs, but I think we’re gunna start when it gets warmer. Besides, Ian spends all his time at Mickey’s now.”

Debbie nodded. “I noticed. He’s coming for dinner tonight, though.”

Carl just gave a nod and stared out at the street.

“Talked to Frank lately?” Debbie asked tentatively.

“What do you care?” he snapped.

Debbie dug her mittens out of her coat pocket and took her time putting them on as she said, “well… it’s just… is he any better? Did the new liver work?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I, uh, don’t want to.”

Carl looked over at her. “ _Why_? Why are all of you ignoring him?”

Debbie bit her lip, trying to come up with a way to put what she was thinking into words that would make sense.

“You’re just like Fiona,” Carl accused. “She doesn’t care if Frank lives or dies.”

“I care.”

“Then why don’t you visit him? He’s just at Sheila’s. See if he’s better for yourself.”

“It’s just… he’s my dad,” Debbie said slowly. “And I love him. But… but I think I need to love him on my own terms.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately,” Debbie went on, sounding a bit more confident now that she seemed to have Carl’s attention. “And you can’t really choose who you love. You just love them. But you can choose _how_ you love them. And you have to love them in the way that’s best for you. And if you’re both, you know, supposed to be happy together, then that way of loving them will be perfect. You’ll both be happy.”

Carl mulled this over for a while, his brow furrowed as he thought. “That’s selfish,” he finally concluded. “That makes it all about you.”

“I don’t think so. I used to try so hard to get people to like me, even love me. Frank and Monica and boys and the popular girls at school… I just really wanted them to love me back, you know? I tried so hard. But then… one day, I was thinking about you guys. Fiona and Lip, everyone. And I love you guys so much and you love me back. I don’t even have to try. You just _do_.”

Carl stayed perfectly still; his eyes were blank, but they never left Debbie’s face.

“And I realized,” she went on, “that’s how it should be. It’s too hard to work to get people to love you back. You’ll send your whole life doing it. You just… have to love them and if they love you back, they’re worth your time. If they don’t… it doesn’t mean they’re not worth your _love_. Just not the time. The effort. Am I making any sense?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Carl nodded.

“So, that’s why I don’t want to see Frank. It’s why I stopped texting Matty. And it’s why you shouldn’t feel bad about Bonnie leaving. If people don’t make the effort, then you shouldn’t have to either.”

“But it hurts,” Carl said softly. “It sucks when you… you want people… to, like, love you or whatever. And they don’t.”

Just then, the bus pulled up and Debbie and Carl fished for their change. They found two seats at the back.

“You just have to deal with it,” Debbie went on knowingly. “Love hurts. There are a billion songs about it. Here, I have some on my iPod. Want to listen with me?”

Carl shrugged. “Sure. But no Taylor Swift.”

“Ew, no. Here, listen to this one. I really relate to it. It’s called ‘Bubblegum Bitch’.”

 

* * *

 

 

The house was warm smelt like roast chicken and potatoes when Debbie and Carl walked in. Lip was bending over the stove, stirring something and Fiona was placing Liam in his highchair, still wearing Veronica’s dress. “Good, you’re home!” she cried when she saw them. “Where have you two been?”

“The mall,” Debbie lied easily. “Looking at clothes and boxing gloves.”

Fiona seemed satisfied. “Let me know next time. And if I find out either of you have been shoplifting you’re grounded.”She patted the top of Liam’s head and went to check on the chicken. “Can you two set the table? I’m gunna go get changed.”

“Is Ian here?” Carl asked.

“Any minute!” Fiona called over her shoulder as she headed upstairs.

Debbie walked into the kitchen and kissed Liam’s forehead. Liam reached his hands out to her. “Use your words,” Debbie told him. Fiona had called each of them and  told them all what the new doctor had said. They tried not to get too excited about it, but a weight seemed lifted from everyone’s shoulders.

“Juice,” Liam said.

“Apple or orange?” she asked.

“Uh,” Lip said, looking up from the kitchen, “we’re out of orange.”

“Apple it is,” Debbie said, heading for the fridge.

Carl set out some plates. “Where’d the chicken come from? Smells better than that stuff you bring home from school.”

“I guess Fiona made friends with one of the cooks at work. Sent it home with her. We also have buns and a shit-ton of cabbage, for some reason.”

“Hey guys!” Ian cried as he came into the kitchen, unzipping his coat. “Smells good.”

Debbie gave Liam his juice and went over to hug Ian. “Have a good day?” she asked. She always asked him that, as if it were some code, a way for her to make sure he wasn’t manic or suicidal or worse.

“Yes,” he said, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Great day.” He walked into, ruffled Carl’s hair, and helped him fill cups. He avoided Lip all together; no need to spoil a nice evening.

When Fiona came back downstairs to find all of her siblings bustling around the kitchen she smiled broadly. It didn’t even matter that she had made less than twenty dollars in tips that week or that none of the other jobs she’d applied had called her back or that after Liam’s latest check-up there wasn’t quite enough to cover the gas bill . Her kids were safe and sound and together.

“Hurry up!” she cried, marching in the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

“It’s ready,” Lip said, pulling the chicken out of the oven. He placed it in front of Fiona and handed her a carving knife.

“Who wants a leg?” she asked.

Carl threw his hand up. To Fiona’s complete surprise, he even said thank you when she handed it to him.

She carved up the rest of the chicken and handed out the food.

“A decent meal for once,” Lip commented. “If I have to eat that cafeteria lasagna one more time…”

“The meatballs were okay,” Carl commented.

Lip looked confused. “There weren’t any meatballs in that, Carl.”

“Oh my God,” Debbie cried, covering her mouth. “What did you _eat_?”

“Maybe it was a rat,” Ian joked.

Carl shrugged. “Tasted good.”

They all laughed. “You’re so gross,” Debbie said, wrinkling her nose.

Carl turned to her and chewed with his mouth wide open.

A loud knock came from the front door. Ian stood up. “I’ll get it. Might be Mickey. I said he could come by.”

“Want me to grab another plate?” Fiona asked.

“Sure,” Ian said, disappearing into the living room.

Lip shook his head. “Can’t keep feeding the whole neighbourhood,” he muttered.

Fiona smacked the back of his head lightly as she stood up. “It’s one person, relax. Come help me, I forgot about the salad. Will you dress it? I think we still have some ranch…”

Debbie pierced a potato with her fork. “Going back to school tomorrow?” she asked Carl quietly once it was only them and Liam at the table.

“Suspension’s done on Monday.”

She just nodded and went back to her food.

Both were quiet for a minute, listening to Ian argue with someone at the door. Debbie and Carl exchanged confused glances.

“I said _no_ ,” Ian was saying in a hushed, angry voice.

Carl stood up and walked toward the door. Debbie followed, grabbing Liam as she went.

Ian stood blocking the doorway and hiding whoever stood in front of him. “You can’t just drop in like this. No way.”

Debbie took a step forward, concerned, Liam on her hip. “Ian, who…”

When Ian turned around they both finally saw who he’d been talking to.

“ _Jimmy_?” Carl asked, squinting as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Hi guys,” Jimmy mumbled. He was dressed well, but his hair was long and his beard was thicker than any Gallagher had ever seen it. There were dark bags under his eyes and a bruise on the left side of his face. “I didn’t think you’d all be here…”

“Where else would we be?” Ian demanded. He threw a glance back at the kitchen. “Can you just go before Fiona gets out here?”

“I need to talk to her,” Jimmy insisted. “I need to see her.”

“Sit on the porch or something,” Ian said, still blocking the doorway so Jimmy couldn’t get it. “Let us at least tell her you’re here. You can’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“I kinda thought you were dead,” Debbie confessed, still confused. “You wouldn’t just… just leave us. But you did.”

Jimmy sighed, looking at her sadly, imploring her to understand. “Debs, I never meant to – ”

A plate suddenly clattered to the ground.

Fiona stood there, her eyes wide, her heart racing. Her stomach felt like it had been sucked up into her throat.

“ _Fi_ –” Jimmy took a sudden step toward her, but Ian held him back. He was trying to gage his sister’s reaction before he let Jimmy anywhere near her. But Fiona said nothing. She just stood there, shocked.

Lip walked up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You want him here?” he asked quietly. “We’ll make him go if you don’t.”

“Where did you go?” Carl demanded, staring at Jimmy.

Jimmy didn’t seem to hear. Nothing in his world existed except Fiona, with her hair tied back, wearing a sweater two sizes too, and a look of anger and confusion slowly spreading over her face. She was beautiful.

“Fiona, please, let I need to talk to you,” Jimmy begged, trying to pull himself out of Ian’s grasp.

She inhaled shakily. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I came back. For you. Listen, you need to hear –”

“Came back?” she repeated. “Like I’m supposed to be happy about that?”

Jimmy was heartbroken, completely shattered as he stood there willing himself to say something, anything, that might make her understand. But nothing came to mind. He stopped thinking all together and ended up spilling out the first words that crossed his mind. “I missed you.”

Fiona hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d dropped the plate. Her entire body was rigid as she stared at him in disbelief. “You fucked off to Michigan,” she accused. “You had it all figured out. This was what you wanted.”

“No! No, you don’t understand!” He tried to move past Ian again, but Ian – somehow taller and broader and stronger than Jimmy remembered – pushed him backward, hard.

“Stay there,” Ian warned.

 “Let me explain,” Jimmy begged, searching the faces of all the Gallaghers. “Just give me ten minutes.”

“I called,” Fiona went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I left a dozen messages. I asked everyone – I tracked down your _dad_ , even he didn’t know where the hell you went.”

“I didn’t have a choice, _please_ , Fiona.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s never your fault. This is just like before.”

“You need to go,” Lip said warningly. “I told you already. This is done.”

Fiona shot an angry, hurt look at Lip. “You _knew_? You knew he was here?”

“I… well…” Lip spluttered.

But Jimmy interrupted. “Please, if you just let me explain. I owe you that much, Fiona. I owe you a lot, all right? But at least an explanation.”

“But _I_ don’t owe _you_ anything,” she said fiercely. “Not even my fucking time. Just go, Jimmy.” Tears she refused to let fall shone in her eyes. He looked so pathetic, standing there in her doorway, dishevelled and exhausted. “Just go.”

Jimmy made another move to get into the house, but again Ian stopped him. This time he forced Jimmy all the way out onto the porch. But Jimmy wouldn’t give up, he kept trying to push his way in.

“You need to go. Right fucking now,” Ian ordered, grabbing Jimmy’s arm and twisting it behind his back.

“Jesus, Ian!” Jimmy yelled. “I need to – _Fiona_! – I need to talk to her. _Fiona_!”

Carl came out onto the porch. “Go inside,” Ian said. “Tell Fiona it’s fine, he’s leaving. And he won’t come back. Isn’t that right, Jimmy-Steve?” he asked, twisting Jimmy’s arm higher up his back.

Carl looked from Ian to Jimmy. Then he reached out and kneed Jimmy in the groin. Jimmy collapsed onto the porch. “Fuck, Carl! What the fuck?” Jimmt yelled.

“Don’t mess with my family,” Carl said simply before turning around and going back inside.

“You heard him,” Ian said with a shrug. From where he was still curled up on the porch, it was easy enough for Ian to kick him down the stairs. Feeling both angry and guilty, Ian made his way back inside, locking the door behind him.

Jimmy lay there for a bit, the cold pavement biting at his back, staring up at the dark sky. “ _Fiona_ ,” he muttered, rolling onto his side. “Fucking Gallagehrs.”

 

 


	6. Pasts Are Full of People

“You _knew_ about this?” Fiona cried.

“Sort of. A bit. Yes.”

“I can’t _believe_ you, Lip!”

When Ian walked back in the house, Fiona had rounded on Lip, who was slowly backing into the kitchen. “I was going to tell you!” he promised, his hands held out in front of him in some sort of surrender.

“When? After he showed up at our house?”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it!”

Debbie set Liam down on the floor and stepped between them. “Guys, just take a second and –”

“Not now, Debs!” Fiona yelled. Her voice shook and her eyes were wide with anger. “You don’t get to meddle in my life like this!” she shouted, her eyes burning holes into Lip.

“I wasn’t meddling,” Lip protested defensively. “I was going to tell you. There was never a good time.”

“Right,” said Ian, crossing his arms as he decide to join the fray. “But _this_ – this was a _great_ time. Well played.”

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

“When did you know?” Fiona demanded. “Tell me.”

Lip sighed, defeated. “He tracked me down at school a couple of weeks ago. Said he wanted me to tell you he was back in town.”

“But you didn’t,” she pointed out.

“No, I didn’t. You had enough shit to deal with. You didn’t need him, too. I was trying to… to help, okay? Not be as asshole.”

“I don’t need _help_ , Lip,” Fiona spat. “You don’t need to protect me from shit.”

“I wasn’t, I –”

“ _I_ protect _you_ _guys_ ,” she went on angrily. “That’s how this works!”

Carl went over to the window and peered through the curtains. “Um, guys? Jimmy’s still sitting there. Should I go kick his ass?”

“No!” Fiona cried. “Just… just leave him alone. He’ll leave.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Debbie asked tentitively.

“He will. Keep the door locked.” Fiona  rubbed her eyes. “Go finish dinner. It’ll get cold.” All the anger and fight had gone from her voice. “I’m going to bed. I’ve gotta be at work early.”

“Fi,” Lip said gently. “Do you wanna talk about –”

“No. No thanks.” She turned and went upstairs without so much as a look back at her siblings.

“Well fucking done,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“Enough,” Debbie warned. “Let’s just put the food away.”

“You need to get the hell of my back,” Lip warned Ian as the five of them made their way back to the kitchen.

Ian shook his head. “If you had just told her, none of this would have happened.”

“Really?” Lip snapped, clearing away plates. “You think so? Because my guess would be that he’d show up here anyways, whether she knew he was back or not.”

“Yeah,” Ian spat back, “but at least she wouldn’t act like she’d just seen a ghost.”

“It was pretty dumb,” Debbie had to agree. “You can’t pry into people’s love lives.”

Lip had a sudden flashback of kicking Matty in the ribs and felt a pang of guilt. He brushed it off for now. “He’s not her ‘love life’ anymore, so what does it matter?”

“It was selfish,” Ian insisted.

Lip gave a short, humourless laugh. “ _You_ want to talk about _selfish_?”

“Let’s not get back into that, for fuck’s sake.”

“Get into what?” Carl asked, looking at his brothers.

“Nothing,” Lip snapped. “Ian’s just the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

Ian smacked down the plate he was holding with a thud. “This isn’t even _close_ to –”

“ _Shh_ , guys!” Debbie whispered.

They were all silent for a minute, except for Liam who tugged on Carl’s pant leg saying, “Da – da –da – Jim.”

Out in the yard, Jimmy was yelling until his voice was hoarse. “ _Fiona_!” he cried. “ _Fiona_!”

The four Gallagher siblings exchanged glances, realizing together that it was ridiculous to make this night about anything other than the shitstorm is was for their sister. They cleared the rest of the dishes in silence.

An hour later, Jimmy had lost both his voice and any hope that Fiona would come outside. Before he turned to leave, he noticed all of Fiona’s siblings peering out at him from behind the blinds of the front bedroom window. He gave them a nod. Some things never changed.

 

* * *

 

 

Veronica wiped down tables while Kev played with the girls behind the bar. Both were sitting in their baby carriers, watching Kev make goofy faces.

She plopped the dirty rag onto the bar and laughed. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to make faces? It’ll get stuck like that.”

“Only had foster-moms,” Kev reminded her, sticking out his tongue and pulling out his ears, “they never cared what my face looked like.” He looked up at Veronica. “That’s why I need you to pass on all your motherly wisdom.”

“And what are _you_ gunna pass on?” she asked teasingly, tossing her rag down.

“I already did it. My superior genes. Look at these two beauties!” he beamed, leaning down to kiss both of them on the forehead. “I guess you helped there, too,” he added, leaning across the bar to kiss Veronica as well.

She laughed. “I’ll take them home now. They need their nap. And,” she said, leaning down and taking a whiff, “Amy needs a change. Hey,” she said, looking back up at Kev again, “did that Mr. White character ever come back?”

Kev shook his head. “We passed the health inspection – somehow. He shouldn’t have any reason to.”

“Yeah, but that guy was a capital-D douche,” Veronica said, moving behind the bar and packing up the girls’ things. “I’m sure he’ll find some reason to pop back in unannounced.”

Kev had to agree. “Hey, maybe we could offer him free hummers? Can’t shut us down if he’s gettin’ some, right?”

Veronica wrinkled her nose. “It’ll never work. Didn’t you get some serious gay-vibes from him?”

Kev laughed. “Well, in that case we can always ask Mickey to –”

“Ask me to what?” asked Mickey as he sauntered up to the bar.

“When did you get here?” Kev demanded, his face bright red as Veronica snickered behind him.

“I’ve been upstairs,” Mickey answered defensively. “Gotta turn my whore-house into a goddamn classroom since _you_ won’t let them use the bar.”

“We can’t shut down the bar for an hour, Mickey!” Kev said, annoyed that they were having this conversation again.

“Yeah, how could you stand to lose the eight dollars you’d make in that time?”

“Be good you two,” Veronica warned as she hooked a baby carrier on each arm and headed out. “Lip should be there any minute,” she added, as Kev ran to hold the door open for her.

Kev strolled back behind the bar and poured Mickey a drink. “Pretty empty today,” Mickey pointed out.

Kev shrugged. “It’s ten in the morning. Give it time.”

“You should get Frank Gallagher back in here,” Mickey suggested, “that guy made you a fortune.”

“Yeah, when he could pay,” Kev snorted. “Which wasn’t often.”

“But he got the party going. Made other people drink.”

Kev shook his head. “No way, man. Guy’s got a second chance, I’m not gunna help him blow it.”

Mickey just shrugged. “Your lose.”

Just then, Lip burst through the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a pile of papers under his arm. “I’m here! Sorry I’m late. Fucking photocopy machine at school wouldn’t work, then the fucking L was held up, then –”

“Let’s just get upstairs,” Mickey said, already annoyed, as he drained the rest of his glass. “Girls are waiting.”

“We got desks?” Lip asked, still panting. “Chairs and stuff?”

“Brought three tables upstairs. And some stools,” Mickey answered. “It’ll work.”

Lip followed as Mickey led him upstairs, thinking vaguely that for all the time he’d spent in The Alibi, he’d never actually been up there before. It was a big enough space, with high windows and decent lighting. Not a bad apartment at all, he thought.

Of course, at the moment it was full of Russian prostitutes sitting on barstools, waiting impatiently. Mickey leaned against the back wall and waved at Lip to start.

“Um – hi. I’m Lip.”

The women stared back at him.

“Great. Okay. Well, I guess first things first. I’m here to teach you the basics. What you’d lean in any run-of-the-mill shithole American high school. My girlfriend, Amanda, will be here next week to help me. We’ll split you into two groups. It’ll be easier that way. One group will work on English and History, the other, Math and Government. We’ll switch at the half hour mark. Cool?”

The women muttered their agreement.

“Great. So I figured today we’d start by getting introduced and stuff. I’ve gotta be honest, I’m still not exactly sure what the plan is here. You guys wanna be citizens, right?”

“Yes,” one of the woman – Svetlana, Lip realized – spoke up. “And no fake-paper bullshit. They find out and deport people. I watch the news. It happens to Mexicans all the time.”

Another woman with short red hair and big blue eyes turned to her. “Yes,” she said, sounding confused, “but we are _white_.”

Svetlana turned to her. “That is racist, Antonia, we went over this.” She turned back to Lip. “She’s learning,” she explained.

“Great, we’ll save that particular lesson for later,” Lip said seriously. “But about these papers – do we even know where to start?”

“I got some leads,” Mickey said vaguely from the back of the room, where he leaned against the wall. “I know a guy who used to be into making passports. He’s got this friend whose sister works in something about immigration.”

Svetlana rolled her eyes. “Yes, perfect plan.”

“Better than you’ve got,” Mickey snapped.

Lip strode into the middle of the room, looking at the women as he finally set down his bag. “I’ve got an idea,” he began hesitantly. “It’s sort of… ridiculous,” he admitted. “But it might work.”

“What is it?” a small blond woman with thick, dark eyelashes asked.

Lip inhaled to steady himself, knowing full well the reaction he was going to get. “What if… you’re all lesbians?”

Twelve confused, annoyed woman began talking at once in Russian, while Mickey just threw up his hands, exasperated.

“They said you are smart!” another one of the women yelled. “This is stupidest thing I ever heard!”

“Hear me out!” Lip pleaded. “You remember the Olympics? That was in Russia, right? And there was that whole big thing about gay rights? And Putin –”

A woman in a blue dress leaned over and spat on the ground at the sound of the name.

“Right. Well, he’s not a fan of gay people, is he? So maybe… maybe you’re a group of gay rights activists. A bunch of lesbians who banded together or something. And you’re being persecuted. You fear for your life. You _had_ to flee Russia. You’re seeking asylum here. Land of the free, all that bullshit.”

Most of the women were still muttering angrily, but a few of them seemed to be listening now. Mickey certainly was. “And that’ll _work_?” he asked. “We just say they had to leave ‘cause they’d whacked or whatever?”

Lip shrugged. “Maybe. I read into it a bit last night, but it’s really complicated. I’ll see what I can make of it tonight. But if there's one thing America loves, it's freedom and hot chicks making out. In the meantime, would you all be all right with that?” he asked the women.

Most of them still looked unimpressed, but a few of them nodded.

“We will need to prove it,” Svetlana piped up. “We cannot just _say_ our lives were in danger.”

“I know, I know. I’m working on that. And hey,” Lip added casually, “I’m open to suggestions here.”

Svetlana cast her cool, appraising glance at him. “Fine,” she finally said. “We will think about it later. Now, are you here to chat or teach?”

“Right. I guess we should start with names. Mrs. Milkovich, why don’t you start us off?”

 

* * *

 

 

The basement of the church wasn’t pretty, but at least it was warm. Fiona and the rest of the members of Narcotics Anonymous sat in a large circle, sitting in uncomfortable chairs and drinking bad coffee. A man named Roger was talking ad nauseam about the years he and his girlfriend had spent addicted to heroin and about how they’d been so broke they couldn’t ever afford their rent.

Fiona would have felt bad for him – she really would have – if she hadn’t heard this story for the last five weeks in a row. She wished she still had her phone. She wanted to badly to check up on everyone, to know exactly where Ian was, what Debbie was doing that day, if Carl was still talking to her, and if Lip had noticed anything while watching Liam. She chewed her thumbnail anxiously.

Charlie Peters nodded along with the rest of the group, listening to Roger. “And that’s when,” Roger was explaining, yet again, “she found out we both had AIDS. She wrote me this note...”

Fiona studied Charlie. He was her boss at the diner and led her NA meetings, but she still knew almost nothing about him. She had gathered from these meetings that he had had a rough childhood, had left home when he was a teenager only to fall in with the wrong people and start selling. Crack mostly, and meth when he could get it. He’d spent some time in jail, but someone had taken him under his wing and set him straight. And now he was trying to do the same for other people – typical redemption story. He was rough around the edges, gruff, and grumpy most days, but he was also kind and funny and charming when he wanted to be. At these meetings, he was full of fatherly wisdom and encouragement. Still, Fiona couldn’t help but feel annoyed – it wasn’t his fault, she knew, but these NA meetings took up valuable time. She didn’t need to be there.

“Fiona,” Charlie said, turning to her after Roger had finally stopped talking. “Anything you’d like to share this week?”

Fiona shook her head, trying to not to look bored or aggravated with the entire situation. This was the man who signed her paychecks, after all. “No.”

“How are you brothers?” he asked leaning forward, knowing exactly what buttons to push to get her talking. “Have the doctor visits been going well?”

Fiona would rather have jabbed her eye out with a spoon than talk about her family in front of a group of strangers. But somehow it happened every week – they were what she thought about, so they were what she ended up talking about.

“They’re doing okay,” she said vaguely. “We got some pretty good news about Liam and Ian seems okay. He’s taking his meds and taking care of himself.”

“That’s great. And you – are you taking care of yourself?”

“Of course.”

“I noticed you worked fifty-two hours this week.”

Fiona shrugged. “So? Misty went on vacation, I picked up her shifts.”

“All of them?”

“Must have.”

“You need to slow down,” Charlie said, not unkindly. “You’ll run yourself into the ground. And then what? You fall back down, try to pick yourself up with –”

“I’ve got bills to pay,” Fiona snapped, cutting him off. “They’re gunna shut the power off next week if I don’t pull three hundred bucks outta my ass. So I picked up some shifts. Doesn’t mean I’m gunna start huffing glue.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“You were about to.”

“You get so defensive,” another member, Rosario, interjected, “when anyone implies you might do drugs again. I mean, it’s why we’re all here. Not like you have to hide it or anything.”

“Hide what?” Fiona asked. “I told you, I’m not a drug addict.”

“You keep saying that,” Roger said, “but that piece around your ankle says otherwise.”

“I fucked up,” Fiona admitted agitatedly, “you already know all about that. It doesn’t make me an _addict_.”

“What do you have against that word?” Charlie asked. “You always spit it out like it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.”

Fiona shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just not me.”

“How? How are you different from an addict? From everyone here?” he pressed.

“I’ve seen addiction, okay? I watched it almost kill my father. Seen it drive my mother from everything she loved. That’s not me. It’s not gunna happen to me.”

“I know it’s not,” Charlie agreed. “Do you want to talk more about your parents? You hardly mention them.”

“They’re hardly worth mentioning.”

“Where we come from,” Charlie said wisely, “it shapes us. Makes us who we are. But not who we will be, not who we _can_ be.”

“Thanks,” Fiona said. “I will consider that. Who’s next?”

Rosario shook her head. “You have to at least try. Otherwise, what’s the point of being here?”

“Court order,” Fiona said simply.

“Maybe we should move on,” Charlie said, admitting defeat. “I’ll just say that, no matter what labels we put on anything, who we once were will always be a part of us, in some way or another. We’re all here, not because we’re drug addicts, but because we need help to make sure our pasts don’t come creeping back up on us. That’s very normal, it’s very human. Everyone needs that, really.”

Fiona shifted uneasily on her chair, twisting and untwisting her shirtsleeve nervously.

“Anything to add?” Charlie asked, noticing the change in her mood.

“Me? No, nothing,” Fiona said quickly. “Well said.”

“You agree?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Not very convincing.”

“Well, I mean… sometimes you don’t have any control over what comes creeping back into your life.”

Charlie leaned forward again, interested. “No?”

“You can’t control other people. Pasts are full of people.”

“And if those people come back into our lives,” Charlie said, “it’s hard to keep what they bring with them out.”

“I guess.”

“But we can control ourselves,” Mark, a man in thick glasses, piped up. “We talked about that yesterday. Weren’t you listening?”

Charlie held up his hand to quiet Mark. “Someone came back, then? Your dad?”

Fiona scoffed. “No. Learned how to deal with him before I was thirteen.”

“So what is this you can’t deal with? And don’t brush me off, Fiona, this is the whole point of these meetings. You’re not in this alone.”

Fiona wet her lips, twisting her hands in and out of her sleeves again like a child. “It’s really stupid, actually. It has nothing to do with,” she motioned around the room, “all this.”

“Neither are Joanne’s bitchy coworkers, but we heard _all_ about then,” Mark pointed out.

Fiona stared around at everyone as they waited for her to pour her heart out. She was going to disappoint them. “It’s just an old boyfriend. He took off a little more than a year ago. He showed at my house the other night. That’s all.”

“Took off?” Rosario asked.

“He wanted to go back to med school, but I guess bringing me and the kids along was too much for him. That’s what I thought. I guess he has a different version.”

“How long were you together?” Rosario asked, as if they were talking over lattes in a café and not huddled in a dank basement with the lowlifes of Chicago.

“Like, two years? On and off.”

“So why did he come back?” Charlie asked. “Why now?”

“Said he wanted to see me,” she shrugged. “Told me he didn’t have a choice, like he _had_ to leave.”

“You know why he had to?” Mark asked.

“No. He hung around with… some rough people,” Fiona said delicately. “He’ll blame it on them. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”

“ _Rough_ people?” Charlie repeated.

“It was… complicated,” she admitted.

“How complicated?”

“He was married to a drug lord’s daughter.”

The word ‘drug’ seemed to electrify the conversation; everyone was listening now. “And this boyfriend, was he into drugs?” Charlie asked.

“No, no,” Fiona said quickly. “I mean – sure we smoked some weed now and then, but it’s not like he was into anything like that. He was travelling, got in some trouble, ended up with the wrong people. That’s it. He didn’t sell or push or cook or anything.” She said this not to defend Jimmy, but to try and keep these people off her back. Maybe she’d tell them he used to be a choir boy, that he made her see the light. Beautiful singing voice, heart of gold.

“So drugs weren’t his problem,” Charlie concluded. “What was?”

“Why do you assume he had a problem?”

“Everyone has at least one.”

Even Fiona had to admit that was true. “He liked… adventure,” she admitted carefully. “So did I.”

“I take it you don’t mean rock climbing,” Mark said.

“No… more like, stealing cars and starting fights.”

Rosario rolled her eyes. “He sounds like a gem. I thought you said this guy was going to med school?”

“He was. He was supposed to. He just… I don’t know, needed the rush. Life can get boring. When you don’t have money to blow on stupid shit, you need to make your own fun. That’s what we did.”

Charlie was nodding along solemnly as she spoke. “And now that he’s back, he’s going to be here making fun again, is that it?”

“I don’t know,” Fiona admitted with a sad sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. And I really don’t care,” she added quickly. “We’re done. Completely.”

“Fiona, this is the most you’ve spoken in all the weeks you’ve been coming here,” Charlie said. “Clearly this is weighing on your mind. Are you worried that, now that this guy is back, he’s going to bring back all of the things you’ve been working to get away from? Because I’ve got to admit, that’s what it sounds like from here.”

Fiona chewed on her lip. “No,” she said eventually, “I’m not worried. It’s hard, you know, to have someone you thought was gone forever show up on your doorstep. Like he was back from the dead. But I’m not getting back into any of that stuff, not ever again. No binge drinking, no stolen cars, no Brazilian gangsters. My kids need me,” went on, more to herself than anyone else in the room. “I know what happens when people fall apart – I’ve seen it too many times. And it’s always the kids that end up with the _shittiest_ end of the bargain. But not my brothers and sister, not again. I was so close to losing them, to losing everything. I’ll never let that happen to them. Ever. I’ve learned from my mistakes. So none of this psychoanalyst bullshit you’re trying to pull is going to help. Jimmy’s just some douche I used to date. I’m good now, okay? On the straight and narrow.”

Charlie studied her for a moment. “I believe you, Fiona.”

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “Then whose next?”

 

* * *

 

 

The lesson went well enough. Lip had the women properly conjugating verbs by the end of the hour. After that, he had helped Mickey bring the tables back downstairs while the women rehung the sheets from the ceiling. For some reason, it absolutely broke Lip’s heart to see the first man walk in and undo his fly.

Kev poured him a beer. “So… I heard about what happened.”

“What this time?” Lip asked, gratefully taking the beer from Kev.

“Jimmy showing up at your place. Fiona came over the other night and told V all about it.”

“Yeah,” Lip said with a sigh. “Really took her by surprise. She was pretty shook up.”

“Not anymore,” Kev said, filling more drinks for the few other people sitting at the bar. “Now she just seems mad as hell.”

“Well, you know what they say about scorned women.”

“He came in here the other day.”

“ _What_? Jimmy?”

Kev nodded, moving back to stand in front of Lip. “Left an address and phone number. He said he didn’t want to go back to the house.”

“Don’t blame him,” Lip admitted. “Ian was ready to kick his ass. And I’m pretty sure Carl _did_. So what’d he do, just drop the stuff off?”

Kev shrugged. “Yeah. He had a drink, we talked a little. I told him about the girls and my son with Carol.”

Lip raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Kev asked defensively, “we’re friends. Not my fault I don’t want to beat the crap out of him. I’m sure Fiona’ll get around to that sooner or later anyways.”

Lip shrugged. “Probably. So what’d you end up doing with his number?”

“I gave it to Fiona. Unlike _some_ people,” Kev said pointedly, topping up Lip’s glass, “I actually pass on messages.”

“Ugh, not you, too.”

“I’m just messing with you,” Kev grinned, sliding him his drink. “And hey, I wanted to thank you again for doing this. The lessons and all.”

“Neighbourhood’s gotta stick together,” Lip said casually. “It’s no big deal. Some of those girls are actually pretty cool.”

“I know,” Kev laughed. “Natalia kicked my ass in black jack the other night. Thank God we weren’t playing for money. And you know Malvina, the quiet one? She draws, you should see it, real artist shit.”

“Oh yeah?”

Mickey walked up to the bar. “I’m heading out,” he told Kev. “Svetlana’ll lock the place up.”

Kev gave him a nod. “All right, see yah Mick.”

“Hey Mickey,” Lip called after him, “I meant to ask you – ”

“This about the girls?”

“No.”

“Then save it,” he snapped. “We’re not friends. You and me? All business.”

Lip looked confused. “Shit, what’d I ever do to you?”

“Rack you brain, figure it the fuck out.”

Lip felt his heart sink down to his knees. “Is this about Ian?”

Mickey just raised his eyebrows.

“Fuck,” Lip muttered, turning back to his drink. “He can be such a pussy.”

Mickey took a menacing step toward Lip, cracking his knuckles. “Watch what you say right now because just looking at your face is getting me pretty rattled.”

“Relax,” Kev said soothingly from behind the bar. “This is a place of calm. If you wanna beat the shit out of each other, do it outside like civilized people.”

“Thanks for the support,” Lip said sarcastically. He turned back to Mickey. “Me and Ian had a fight and now he’s whining to everyone he knows about it. He’ll get over it.”

“You’re an absolute fucking moron,” Mickey spat. “I can see why Mandy hates you.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Lip said, sitting up straight, suddenly angry. “This isn’t about –”

“The fuck it isn’t. It’s about you being a huge fucking tool and everyone knowing it except you.” Mickey shook his head angrily. “Lucky I need you or else I’d kick your ass right now.”

“Huge fucking tool,” Lip repeated darkly, “just helping you out of the deepest shit you’ve ever been in. Yeah, you hit the nail on the head there.”

“Just leave my fucking family alone,” Mickey said as he turned to leave.

Lip stood up. “Ian’s _my_ fucking family, Mickey.”

“Start acting like it!” Mickey shouted as he slammed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Kev was exhausted when he came home that night, his head full of numbers he couldn’t quite make sense of and a dozen Russian women he didn’t know what to do with. He tossed his keys on the table and found Veronica curled up on the sofa, sleeping with the baby monitor by her ear. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Hi baby. How’d the rest of the night go?”

“Slow,” he admitted.

Veronica wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “That’s okay, you’re home now. Let’s not even think about the bar.”

“Good idea,” he grinned, straddling her on the sofa and kissing her again.

Veronica giggled. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around him. “Or we can stay right here.”

Kev kissed her again. “Can’t,” he said apologetically. “I’m gunna go over to your mom’s tonight.” He stood up and pulled off her shirt, looking around the living room for another, cleaner one. “Gotta see the little man,” he explained.

Veronica sat up. “Seriously? Right now? You just got home!”

“I know, but I haven’t been there since last week,” he explained, picking up a grey t-shirt and giving it a tentative sniff. “He is my son, V.”

“And what about your daughters?” she asked, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

“I spent all day with them!”

“Is this how its gunna be?” she demanded. “You see them for twenty minutes while you work before you rush off to spend quality time with your _son_?”

Kev spun around and took a step toward her, suddenly angry. “Don’t talk like that. You know how much I love those girls. I’d do anything for them. Don’t act like I’m being a bad father. I’m trying to be a _good_ one right now.”

“Then what about me?” Veronica went on, trying a new approach, as Kev pulled his shirt over his head. “We haven’t had any real time together in weeks. Since the girls were born! Are we just supposed to forget about each other? Raise our kids and go our separate ways?”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about?” he asked. He placed both her hands gently on the sides of Veronica’s face, all his anger gone. Veronica didn’t pull away, but she didn’t move her hands from her hips, either.  “You know I wanna spend time with you, babe. I’m sorry we’ve been so busy, okay? We just need to get back on our feet, that’s all. And we will – together. Why don’t you come with me tonight? It’ll be great – you should come. You’re his family, too.”

“And leave the girls here alone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Call Debbie over, she won’t mind.”

“It’s the middle of the night. A _school_ night,” she snapped. “Besides, I haven’t left the girls alone for more than twenty minutes. I can’t – I won’t, not yet.”

“Bring them, too!” Kev cried excitedly, as if this was the best idea he’d had in ages.

“Wake two infants up at midnight?” Veronica asked, sitting back down on the sofa. “Are you insane? Your _son_ probably isn’t even awake right now,” she pointed out. “What’s the point of you even going? Just want to spend time with my mother?”

Kev sat down beside her and grabbed her hand. “V, why are you so mad at me? You know he never sleeps more than an hour at a time – I want to be there when he wakes up. You know, rock him back to sleep and stuff. I should be there.”

Veronica turned away. “Fine. Then go.”

Kev stood up. “What’s your deal right now? You can’t act like I’m being an asshole here. I mean, hell, this was your idea in the first place. And it was your idea to let Carol keep our baby. I’ve don’t everything you’ve said, without question. And know I’m the bad guy? No way, it’s not fair. V – V, would you at least look at me?”

But she wouldn’t. She sat there, rigid, her hands pressed together in her lap, facing the wall. Kev walked around and sat down on her other side, ready to get even angrier with her, until he saw the tears in her eyes. His heart melted – it always did, looking into her eyes. “Babe,” he said softly. “What – what is it? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said –”

“Yes you should have,” she said softly, still staring off at the wall. “You’re right – everything you said was true. This was all my idea, my fault.”

“Fault?” Kev repeated incredulously. “V, this isn’t your _fault_. There’s not fault here, okay? I know the whole situation is kinda fucked up, but we can do this.”

Veronica finally looked at him, a tear escaping despite all of her efforts to stay calm. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s me. I ruined everything, Kevin,” she whispered. “We could have had a nice, normal family.”

Kev laughed. “Nice and normal? Please, who the fuck wants that?”

That made Veronica smile.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Kev went on gently, pressing his forehead to her’s. “You fought so hard for our family and you won. Now we have a great big family full of little ones to love the faces off of. Right? Who cares how we got there? We got there and I’m so happy we did.”

Veronica wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sorry I freaked out,” she whispered.

“No problem. Not gunna lie,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Kinda turned me on to see you go all mama-bear.”

“Really?” she grinned.

Kev flipped her over onto her back as she laughed. “Really.” The pulled his shirt off again. “I guess I can be a few minutes late.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ian’s phone rang at two in the morning a week later.

“Hi, um, is this Ian?”

He held the phone away from his ear. The girl on the other end was shouting into it over loud music and too many people talking at once. “Yeah,” he said, still holding the phone out. “Who’s this?”

“I know Lip!” she yelled. “We're at a party.”

“Great,” Ian said, flopping down on Mickey's bed. “What do you need me for?” He couldn't help but feel annoyed; he and Lip had hardly said more than ten words to each other in days – and at least half of those words were insults.

“You need to come get him!” the girl yelled.

“Get him? Is he okay?”

“He's drunk!”

“Well, it is a party.”

“Really drunk!” the girl insisted. “He puked in the sink and in my fichus. He keeps trying to get people to fight him.”

“Jesus, Lip...” Ian sighed, running his hand over his face. 

“He told me to call someone named Mandy, but I can't a hold of her. So I just started going through his phone. He was texting some girl, Fiona, but she's not picking up either.”

“Yeah, she's at work,” Ian explained.

“Well, you're his brother, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then come get him.”

“Just kick him out,” Ian suggested. “He'll make his way to his dorm eventually.”

“He can't even walk straight! What if he has alcohol poisoning? I'm not letting this kid die on my porch.”

Ian rolled his eyes as Mickey walked in the room and raised an eyebrow questioningly. “It's Lip,” Ian explained, “I have to go get him from this poor girl's party.” He spoke back into the phone, “where are you guys? I'll be there as soon as I can.”

The party wasn't really that far from Mickey's house. Ian used Iggy’s old bike and was there in twenty minutes. 

A pretty Black girl was standing on the lawn, her hands on her hips as she tapped her foot impatiently. Lip was sitting on the grass in front of her, slurring incoherently. He looked awful.

The girl noticed Ian ride up. “Are you his brother?” she asked eagerly.

“Yeah,” Ian said, using his foot to flip up the old bike's kickstand.

“You took forever,” she complained. “You need to get him out of here. He nearly smashed my front window.”

Ian glared down at his brother. “You idiot.”

Lip looked up at him. “It's Ian!” he cried. “Look, Sadie. It's Ian. Ian's here. Here’s Ian.”

Sadie rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Just take him.” She fished into her pocket and handed Ian Lip’s phone. “Don't let him call Amanda,” she warned. “She's my friend; he's been upsetting her all night.”

“Yeah,” Ian shrugged, putting the phone into his pocket, “he tends to do that to his girlfriends.”

“ ‘S none... ‘s none of your bus-nis,” Lip slurred, swaying back and forth.

Sadie just shook her head and walked back into the party.

Ian bent down and slid his arm around Lip's back. “Up you go, moron.”

Lip struggled to his feet, clinging onto Ian's shoulder. “Careful. Bad spins.”

“I bet. Fuck, you stink.”

“Let's...be on… that… on the bike,” Lip said, pointing at it as they walked past. “I wanna... ride.”

“Nope,” Ian said curtly, pulling him past it. “I'll get it in the morning. You could use a nice walk.”

“I'm gunna puke.”

“Don't, I like these shoes.”

Ian and Lip shuffled for a while down the sidewalk until Lip couldn't do it anymore. He bent over and puked into the gutter. Ian waited patiently. 

“Come on,” Ian said gently after a while, “I want to be home before dawn.”

Lip nodded, grabbed Ian's arm again, and kept going.

It only lasted about a block.

“Sit. I'm... I'm gunna sit,” Lip mumbled.

“Nope, no way,” Ian said through gritted teeth as he struggled to hole Lip up. “We're going home.”

“Can't... just... I'll just... sleep here.” Lip managed to lower himself to the curb, first sitting and then laying down.

“My God, you look like Frank.”

Lip sat back up. “Shut up. Do not.”

“A bit.”

“Shut... shut up.”

Ian stood there, his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. “You really gunna stay there all night?”

“Stop... stop rushing... me. You... you...” Lip looked up at Ian, as if only just then remembering that they had been mad at each other. “Why did... you come?”

“That girl called me.”

“Should have left me. Like you do.  ‘S fine.”

“Can we not get into that now?” Ian asked, shaking his head and kicking a stray pebble. “You're drunk.”

“Talk about... what I want...” Lip said, swaying back and forth dangerously as he sat there.

“Look, you're gunna freeze if you sit there all night. You don't even have a coat.”

“Shut up. I'm not talking to you.”

“Sure sounds like you are.”

“Smartass.”

“Got it from you.”

Lip looked up at him. “Go home, I don't want you here.”

Ian ground his teeth together, stepping out onto the empty street so he stood in front of Lip. “Come on, man, I just came and saved your ass! That doesn't win me any points?”

Lip didn't say anything.

Anger welled up inside Ian, the same anger that had been festering for weeks. “I can’t believe you!” he cried, still standing there in the empty street, lit only by the weak yellow streetlights. “I can't believe you’re mad at me. After all the shit I went through - and that's what it was, Lip - _shit_. I was so fucking alone. You didn’t care. Not enough to figure out what was really going on.”

“I –“

“Yeah, yeah, you texted,” Ian spat. “You called. A real _effort_ , Lip. You didn't do anything because you were pissed off at me for leaving at all, is that right? Like I just exist for you, to make you happy.”

“Shut up,” Lip said, putting his head in his hands.

Ian was yelling by now. “No! That's exactly what happened. The world stopped revolving around Lip so you got upset. But what about me? Did you ever stop and wonder why I did it? Think for half a second about me and not you?”

“I... I...”

“You didn’t. Because you were mad. And Lip's feelings are the most important thing, right? Not like other people matter.”

“I wasn’t mad,” Lip slurred, his head slumped down between his shoulders. All his fight was gone; he seemed defeated.

“You let me down!” Ian cried. He was so angry – angrier than he'd realized – at his brother, who looked so pathetic now, not at all like the hero he'd once imagined him as.

Lip was quiet, willing himself not to cry as his throat tightened and his eyes stung. “I know,” he said quietly.

“Why?” Ian demanded.

Lip looked up at him. “I’m scared,” he said bluntly. “So fucking scared. For you.”

“Of me,” Ian corrected.

Lip sighed. “Yeah. That too.”

Ian shook his head and took a step back, completely unable to believe the garbage Lip was spewing. “So that’s it? Why you've been acting like such a jerk?”

Lip just nodded, staring at the pavement.

“You’re scared.”

Lip nodded again.

“You. You’re scared. You again. Not me.”

Lip was quiet for a long time. Ian thought maybe he was trying not to be sick.

“You were right, I should never have come,” Ian said, breaking the heavy silence. “Should have just left you. You wouldn’t have come for me.”

“But I did,” Lip choked. There were tears - real tears - in his eyes now. “When Mandy called. I came to get you.”

Ian shut his eyes, not wanting to look at Lip, not wanting to remember that night.

“I was scared. Really scared. But you were in trouble.”

Lip wasn’t sure if Ian was listening at all until Ian finally spoke. 

“You don’t know... I can’t even explain...” Ian began slowly, his eyes still closed, “how bad it was. How bad I felt. But... they... they said your name. I wanted to see you. It made me... it made me feel less awful. Somehow. Knowing you were coming.”

When Ian opened his eyes again, Lip was crying. 

It took him back. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Lip cry before.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Lip choked.

Ian felt his own throat tighten. 

“Sorry,” Lip said again, shaking his head slowly. “I’m... sorry. So sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ian said finally. “Look, I didn’t mean to...”

“You’re right. I was such an ass. Because I didn’t want... this, any of this. You to - to - to not be okay. You’re _Ian_.”

Ian licked his lips and stared at his feet.

“You’re my best friend. I needed you to be fine.”

 Still, Ian didn't say anything. He just wanted to go home, not stand in the middle of some road freezing his ass off while his brother tore at his heart.

“It’s why - why I...” Lip struggled to stand up, pushing himself heavily off the curb. “I’m mean,” he said bluntly. “I’m mean to you. Because being mad. It’s easy. Easier than scared.”

“But you are scared,” Ian said, finally looking over at Lip.

Lip just nodded.

“I am too, you know,” Ian added.

Lip looked up at the sky and sniffled. “Are you?”

“Really scared.”

“You don’t seem like it,” Lip said, still looking up at the stars. “You’re brave. Always have been.” He was quiet for a moment. “The sky’s big,” he went on, still looking up. “Look. Big, eh?”

Ian looked up, too, confused. “Yeah, sure.”

“It’s how I felt. When you were gone. Like, this big world, you know? And - and lots of bad shit went down and I wanted you. You’re right. I was selfish. I am selfish.”

Ian shook his head. “You’re not. Not all the time,” he added, with a bit of a smile. But it faded. “I wanted you too, you know.”

Lip stood up and took a few wobbly steps toward Ian and pulled him into a hug. “You’re my best friend,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ian.”

Ian hugged him back, holding on tight.

“I won’t - be - like that. Not anymore. I’ll be scared. Can’t help it. But I won't be a jerk.”

Ian choked out a little laugh. “You’re always a jerk, though.”

“I love you,” Lip muttered, still clinging to him.

“I know. I love you, too.”


	7. Where I Come From

_The kitchen was wrong. All the proportions were off. Everything was too big. And the lighting was weird; it looked like it should have been sunrise, before anything really had any colour to it and the shadows were still long, but that didn’t make any sense. Fiona wouldn’t let Liam out of the house that early. He was by himself in the yard; she could see him through the window, playing on the grass. She wanted to go out to him, but they wouldn’t let her._

_So she stood at the sink, doing dishes._

_Jimmy stood next to her, dressed in an expensive shirt and smelling like Drakkar Noir. “What are you doing?” he asked her._

_“Working.”_

_“Why are you so upset?”_

_“Because I have to wash the same stupid cup every doggone time!”_

Fiona woke up with a start, her heart racing and drenched in sweat.

 

* * *

 

 

“So where is he?”

“Mickey?”

“No. _Him_.”

“Oh.” Mandy shut her eyes. Of course Ian would choose now to bring up Kenyatta. They were sitting, curled up together on the couch like the used to, watching bad daytime TV and laughing at old inside jokes. Mandy shifted in her seat. “He’s at work.”

“You know, Mandy –”

“Yes, I _do_ know,” she barked. “I’ve heard what you had to say about it. You just don’t seem to hear _me_.”

“Come on, Mandy!” Ian cried, suddenly exasperated. “You can’t stay with guy who –”

“Shh! You’ll wake the baby.”

They both looked over at where Yevgeny slept in his cradle by the sofa. Mandy had offered to watch him while Mickey and Svetlana were a work – if you could call it work. Yevgeny didn’t seem bothered by their fighting; he was probably used to shouting by now. The kid had learned to sleep through anything.

“Sorry,” Ian said with a sigh. “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

Mandy shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Fine.” Ian wracked his brain, trying to think of a way to change the subject before Mandy shut down completely. “So, um, any word on a job for Fiona at the Waffle Cottage?”

“I asked,” Mandy answered, perking up a bit. “But Ray said we weren’t hiring. Told him to hang on to her resume though, keep her in mind.”

“Thanks.”

“What about you?” she asked. She moved a little closer to him on the couch as she lit a cigarette. “You gunna look for a different job?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Dude who can’t drink working at a bar? Kinda ironic.”

“Whatever. It’s good money. Not as good as when I was dancing, but better than anywhere else I could get.”

Mandy had to agree. “Still, no more army crap?” she asked. “That’s sort of your thing.”

Ian laughed darkly and shook his head. “Not really an option for me anymore.”

“No shit. Just because you went missing in action?”

“AWOL,” Ian corrected her. “Completely different.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Can’t say I made a great impression with them. Lot of shit went down.”

“Right. What ever happened with that?”

Ian stared down at his hands, pulling at a thread on his pants just to keep them occupied. “Took care of it,” he said vaguely.

Mandy punched his arm. “Don’t give me that.” 

“It’s no big deal.”

“You think I’m gunna rat you out or something? Just tell me.”

Ian looked at her for a minute, realizing that she really was the only person in the world that he would – hell, that he _could_ – tell. “There was this… guy. I was a private and he was a First Sergeant.”

“Which is…?”

“He was an important guy,” Ian explained. “And we…”

“Fucked?” Mandy asked, raising her eyebrow.

Ian shrugged then nodded. “A lot,” he admitted

Mandy grinned. “You’re sluttier than I was in tenth grade.”

Ian pushed her with this foot. “Fuck off, I thought you wanted to hear the story.”

Mandy waved her hand impatiently at him to finish.

“Anyways, I lied about how old I was to get into the army, but I told this guy I was seventeen. I figured, I dunno, I had to. Owed it to him.”

“And he fucked you anyway?”

“Yeah. It didn’t bother either of us.”

“So, what happened?” Mandy pressed. “He bitch out and confess or something? Throw you under the bus?”

“No, no. A few weeks ago, they finally tracked me down.”

“Fuck off, the _army_ found you? They were still looking?”

Ian shrugged again, stealing Mandy’s cigarette and taking a drag. “Guess so. They took me in. I figured I was done for, that I had jail time coming up.”

Mandy moved closer and grabbed his knee. “How’d you get out of it?”

“Turns out, after I left, they went through my records a bit more carefully. They managed to figure out I _wasn’t_ Philip Gallagher. Talked to Lip and everything - but he said he didn’t know me. Anyways, I guess some texts were found, some emails. The whole can of fucking worms was open.”

“So they knew about you and that first-super-important-guy?”

Ian nodded. “They knew my whole fucking life’s story. Where I lived, what school I went to, that I used to work at the Kash ‘N’ Grab. They scared the absolute shit out of me. But they also found a few emails where me and this First Sergeant talked about how old I was. And… other stuff. I mean, having gay sex with a private would have been a scandal, but having gay sex with an underage private…”

“So they told you to keep your mouth shut,” Mandy guessed.

“If I talked, this shit would have made national headlines. I could prove it all. So, the deal was, I don’t say anything, they don’t press any charges. We all walk away like nothing ever happened.”

“Shit,” Mandy said, leaning back and lazily taking her cigarette from Ian, “fucking an old man finally worked out in your favour.”

“I guess. But I can’t enlist again.”

“And this old guy? Nothing happened to him?”

“Probably not.”

Mandy shook her head. “That’s a load of bullshit. But I’m glad they’ll leave you the fuck alone now.”

Just then, the baby started to whine. Mandy stood up slowly, giving her smoke back to Ian, and walked over to the cradle. She leaned down, picked him up, and rocked him gently. Ian stood up to grab a bottle from the kitchen. They were getting pretty good at this whole babysitting thing.

“Hey,” she called, bouncing around with Yevgeny on her shoulder, “you should write a book or something. Tell it all, names, dates – everything.”

“They’d probably put me in jail. I _did_ destroy a helicopter,” he pointed out, coming back into the living room, and testing the temperature of the formula on his wrist.

“Yeah, but you’d make a ton of money. Get out of jail a millionaire.”

“Doubt it,” Ian laughed. “They’d shut me up somehow. I don’t care. I’ve got other things to worry –”

The door swung open. “Anyone home?” a voice called. “I need my handgun. And bullets – I swear if you guys wasted all my bullets shooting cans again, I’ll…”

Joey Milkovich stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Mandy and Ian standing in the living room.

“Hey,” Mandy said, sounding confused. “What are you doing here?”

Joey didn’t take his eyes off Ian as he said, “getting my fucking gun. _He’s_ still here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ian said forcefully, “ _I’m_ still here.”

Joey looked at him a moment longer, then went off into the house. “Mandy, where’s my gun?” he called.

“Should be in the drawer!” she answered. She took the bottle from Ian and the two of them sat back down as Mandy tried to feed the baby. “Eat, you little shit,” she mumbled.

“Got it!” Joey’s voice rang out. “Under Iggy’s fucking bed.” Joey walked back out into the living room, gun in hand. Ian was suddenly uneasy.

Mandy, on the other hand, seemed completely comfortable. “He still up in Detroit?”

“Yeah. Guess he and his friend stopped robbing gas stations and started stealing copper. Tons of abandoned shit up there, good money.”

Mandy nodded. “What you need the gun for?”

Joey shrugged nonchalantly. “Was gunna head up there for a few days. Iggy says there’s some big job, he could use the extra hands.”

“Cool. Mickey going?”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“Figured he had – obligations,” he muttered, nodding at the kid in Mandy’s arms.

Ian rolled his eyes. _Sure_ , he thought. _That was it_.

“I gotta roll,” Joey said suddenly. “Bye, Mands.”

“Bye,” she called after him as he hurried out.

Ian waited until the front door was shut again before rounding on her. “See the way he looked at me?”

“Relax, Ian.”

“The guy wants me dead.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“And what about that shit about not asking Mickey?”

Mandy put the bottle down and laid Yevgeny’s head on her shoulder as she tried to burp him. “You really think he would have gone up there with those two idiots?”

“The point is they didn’t _want_ him up there.”

Mandy sighed. “It’s just… gunna take them more time, okay? They’re family. They’ll come around.”

“Bullshit. You weren’t at the baptism. Mickey almost had the life beat out of him and your fucking brothers did _nothing_.”

Mandy stood up and paced around the room. “Exactly.”

“Excuse me?”

“They did nothing,” she repeated. “They should have helped Dad. But they didn’t.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I get it, okay?” she snapped, laying the baby back down in his basinet and crossing her arms. “But you have to understand – you know Frank?” she said suddenly, completely switching tracks. “He was never very important in your house. Right? It was all you guys – Fiona and stuff. But here… Dad was in charge. _Always_. And he was always right.” She spoke slowly, as she struggled to figure out how to explain the strange dynamic her family had always had. “We listened. We had to. So… for my brothers to not side with Terry in that fight – I mean, it’s not much, but it’s something.”

“It’s not enough,” Ian said, stretching out on the sofa.

“I know,” she admitted, lying down next to him as Yevgeny cooed in his cradle. “But they’ll come around. Really. With Dad gone, it’ll be easier, I think.”

Ian stared up at the ceiling, his arm wrapped around Mandy. “Your dad’s the biggest cunt on the planet. I hope he dies in prison.”

Mandy was quiet. She shifted, resting her head on Ian’s chest, and whispered, “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Malvina was late. When she rushed into the apartment-turned-schoolroom above The Alibi, the women were already split into two groups, one led by Amanda, the other, Lip. Lip noticed her and walked over to the door.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, through her thick accent. “Bus. It break down.”

“No problem, we just started,” Lip said easily. He held out his hand. “Five bucks, please.”

“I – uh – sorry. Don’t have.”

Lip thought for a minute, looking down at Malvina. Her coat was thin and worn and her stockings had a run up the thigh. She had her dark hair pulled neatly back into a braid, and bright blue eyes lined with thick eyeliner. “You got anything? Some change?” he asked quietly. “It’s just not fair if I make the other girls pay and…”

Malvina shook her head. “No – I give you something else?” She took a step forward and mechanically grabbed the front of Lip’s pants. “After class. Free.”

“Whoa – whoa, whoa, no. No thank you,” Lip cried, throwing up his hands and stepping back.  “See that girl over there?” he asked, looking back at Amanda. “That’s my girlfriend. So I can’t – I won’t…”

“She doesn’t know. All men have them – girlfriends, wives. Someone. They never know.”

Lip sighed, sadly. The look in Malvina’s eyes was so cold, her face completely blank. Like she was trying to make a withdrawal at an ATM.

“I need class,” she implored finally, when Lip wouldn’t speak. “I need know how to make write. Your letters, very different. I sorry. How – what I can do? I _need_ class.”

“Shit, yeah,” Lip muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, just… don’t tell anyone, okay? You’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

“So I pay next week?” she asked hopefully.

“Nah,” Lip said, patting her shoulder and leading her to the table littered with papers and chewed up pencils. “It’s good. Don’t worry about it.”

 

When the lesson ended, Lip counted the waded up five and one dollar bills he had collected and gave half to Amanda.  She held one bill gingerly by the corner. “You can keep them,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“You earned it,” Lip insisted, shoving his half into his pocket.

“Seriously,” she said, dropping the money onto the table. “Keep it. I don’t want it. Who knows where that money’s been.”

Lip shook his head as he pocketed that money, too. “Who cares? A little Purell, you’ll be fine.”

“No thanks.”

The two walked downstairs as the women busily hung up sheets and blankets from the ceiling, setting up low tables and slipping off their sweaters. Lip smiled at them as they said goodbye, half in English, half in Russian.

Kev called them over to the bar. “One free drink after every lesson,” he explained as Amanda sat down. “What what’ll yah have?”

“We have class in an hour,” Amanda said apologetically.

Kev gave her a nod. “So nothing for you? You sure? Beer, Lip?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He hopped up on a bar stool.

Amanda nudged him with her elbow. “We should go. We’re gunna be late.”

“No we’re not. Sit for ten minutes, it won’t kill you.”

“Might,” Amanda muttered, looking around at the rough characters that frequented The Alibi. She sat on her own stool and took the ginger ale Kev gave her, turning the glass around so she could drink from the un-chipped side.  

“Yo Lip, little help?” Mickey called as he struggled to bring two barstools down the narrow staircase at once. Lip got up and took one from him. Mickey placed the one he held down beside Lip and ordered a shot of Jack Daniel’s.

“So you two aren’t gunna try and kill each other today?” Kev asked wearily. “Cause we deserve some warning. There’s a lady present,” he said, with a wink at Amanda. She didn’t seem to think it was funny.

“We’re cool,” Mickey said simply. “Right now.”

“So when’s the place shutting down for good?” Lip asked, more to change the direction of the conversation than anything else. His sloppy, teary apology to Ian wasn’t one of the things he wanted to share with everyone at the bar.

“Soon as we figured out what to do with them,” Kev answered, throwing his rag over his shoulder.

“So still nothing on those papers yet? That lead you had?” Lip asked Mickey. Mickey just shook his head and ordered a beer. Lip wondered whether he should finally suggest Jimmy or not – that cat was out of the bag now anyways.

“What about you, Amanda?” Kevin asked. “Got any law-school friends that might know any immigration loop-holes?”

“Um – no,” she said quickly. “I’m in Anthropology.”

“What’s that? Sounds smart.”

“It’s the study of people – sort of.”

“Cool,” said Kev with a nod. “You must –”

Amanda turned back to Lip. “Can you hurry up and finish that?” she asked, motioning to his drink and ignoring Kevin all together. “We can’t be late. You have that lab and my next lecture is covering material for the midterm.”

“Fine,” Lip said, tipping his head back as he drained his drink. He put the glass down on the bar with a thud. “Thanks Kev!” he called as Amanda practically dragged him out of the bar.

She practically dragged him into her car, too.

“I don’t think I can do that again,” she said as she fitted the keys into the ignition.

“What? Kev’s not so bad, come on.”

“No – I mean – all of that. That was crazy.”

Lip turned to her as she pulled out onto the street and headed back toward campus. “You mean the lesson?”

“Yes. Put your seatbelt on.”

Lip did.

“Don’t you realize how fucked up that is?” she went on. “I mean, we were in a whorehouse, teaching prostitutes, and then chatting with their pimps like it was meet-the-teacher-night!”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“I’ve never met a pimp before in my life before today. I wish I hadn’t.”

Lip’s brow furrowed, his cocky smile gone. “What’s with you? Kev was really fucking nice to you back there.”

Amanda scoffed. “How long before he asks you to rent me out to him? Women are all just dollar signs to men like him. Only worth as much as some lowlife will pay for an hour alone with them.”

“Hang on a second, Kevin is a good guy. He’d never do that. Where the hell is this coming from?”

“He’s a _pimp_ , Lip.”

“He’s renting out his empty space, making a little extra money to feed his family. Give the guy a break.”

Amanda stopped the car at a red light and turned to look at him. “You honestly don’t see anything problematic with this situation?”

“I mean, of course there’s –”

“He’s selling those women, Lip. Him and that other thug with those stupid knuckle tattoos. They’re terrible people.”

“The women are –”

“Don’t even _try_ to tell me they have a choice,” she raged on, as she sped through the intersection when the light changed.

“I’m not, I just –”

“They were bought and sold – like cattle! And now they keep them all in that scuzzy apartment, making fake rooms out of bed sheets so they can jack off more fat old men at a time? It’s disgusting, Lip! We should call someone. We should call the police.”

“Will you let me get a fucking word in here?” Lip cried. “You don’t exactly have the details, so let me explain, will you? I’m not saying these women have a choice. They’re in a pretty fucking shitty situation.”

Amanda just raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“But Mickey – that _thug_ – he saw they were all being treated unfairly but their old pimp. Staged a walk out, demanded better pay. Turns out, whores aren’t exactly a rare commodity, so they were replaced. Lost their jobs.”

“ _Commodity_ ,” Amanda repeated harshly. “Now they’re not even cattle to you – just _things_.”

“I don’t choose the way the world works!” Lip yelled, anger boiling up inside him. “That’s how people fucking see them. But not me and not Mickey and _not_ Kev. They’re trying to fucking _help_ them. Mickey made sure they had jobs at all. That’s how he got roped into this whole mess in the first place! For _them_. And now he and Kev are trying to get them somewhere, give them something useful so that they’re not out flat on their asses again, sucking guys off behind a dumpster or working for some evil dude out there.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Right, so you guys are all heroes.”

“I’m not saying that! I’m saying that they’re trying to – not make things right, but maybe – I don’t know – make them better. That’s what we’re doing too, with these lessons.”

“It’s a terrible idea, Lip.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought at first. But the whole thing grows on you. You’ll see,” he said assuredly, leaning back in his seat. “You’ve just got to get to know the girls a little. You’ll like them. They’re just regular people with shitty jobs. And who hasn’t worked shitty jobs before, right?”

“It’s not the actual _teaching_ I have a problem with,” she explained. “Lip, these women are illegal immigrants. And you want to get them passports and stuff? Act like they’re supposed to be here? That’s _federal_ ,” she whispered, as if they might be overheard. “We could go to prison.”

“ _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We’re accessories!”

Lip had to smile. This was culture shock, plain and simple. “Around here, that’s nothing.”

“That’s what you think. Until the cops come drag you away. I’m not lying in court for you,” she said, completely serious.

Again, Lip laughed. “You think we’re gunna end up in court?”

“Of course I do! If we keep this up, it’s going to end badly. I won’t do it, Lip. I won’t be a part of this crime, or of helping those pimps – which, I might add, is _also_ a crime. I can’t be around those prostitutes anymore. I feel for them, I really do, but everything is just so disgusting. I keep thinking of all the men who… I can’t do it anymore!”

“Fine, fine!” Lip cried. “Jesus, you don’t have to. I’ll teach them myself.”

Amanda shook her head as she stopped at a light and flicked on her blinker. “No. No, you need to stop, too.”

“What? No way. You don’t get to decide that.”

“It’s – it’s for your own good,” she said hesitantly. “Please, Lip, just listen to me.”

“No!” Lip cried. “I care about this, okay? I’m trying to help. To fix this fucked up situation my friends are in – my friends _including_ the girls.”

“You can’t just fix it with a grammar lesson.”

“At least I’m trying! It might not mean anything to you, but these are people from my neighbourhood. You don’t just walk away when they need you.”

“So what?” Amanda cried. “If they weren’t from the damn _Southside_ you wouldn’t care?”

“But they _are_. Like I said, these people are my friends. Fuck, some of them are like family. You expect me to just walk away from them when they need help?”

Amanda swerved and pulled over on the side of the road. “You can’t just fix everything!” she yelled, slamming her hands down onto the steering wheel. “You can’t fix this, it’s too big!” She looked over at him, trying to calm down. “You’re smart, Lip. You’re so smart. You can get out of that shitty neighbourhood and never look back. Why are you insisting on getting yourself mixed up in this crazy shit?”

“That shitty neighbourhood is my _home_ ,” Lip said fiercely.

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re on your way out.”

Lip shook his head and stared out the window, refusing to look at her. “You don’t understand. Drop it; I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, then you wanna talk about Sadie’s party?” Amanda snapped, annoyed that Lip didn’t seem to be listening – why was he offended by something she meant as a compliment?

“No, I don’t wanna talk about fucking Sadie’s party.”

“You were a mess.”

“I was going through some stuff.”

“You embarrassed me.”

“Tough shit!”

“Excuse me?” she asked, leaning back and raising her eyebrows, clearly pissed off.

Lip turned back to her. “You know, you were all gung-ho about having a bad-boy on your arm when we started. Sister in prison, smoked too much, from the wrong neighbourhood. But as soon as shit gets real, you’re ready to fuck off. But this is it, Amanda, this is my life. This is who I am. I’m not saying it’s good – hell, I get it, I’m an asshole. But you signed up for this. You can’t get pissed off when things get complicated!”

She reached over and grabbed his arm. “But your _better_ than this.”

“Enough, Mandy!”

She pulled her hands away from him and sat there for a moment, staring. “Mandy? You never call me that.”

“Shit. Uh. Pet name,” he mumbled, rubbing his mouth and staring at his feet.

“You call me _pet names_ when we _fight_?” she asked incredulously.

“Look, there’s a bigger fucking issue here,” Lip barked. “I’m not better than this – this is who I am, where I come from. So I’m gunna help Kev and I’m gunna help those women. I don’t care if it’s a fucking crime, everything’s a fucking crime. You can’t win this game by playing fair, not when you start from where we are.”

“And that’s it? You’ll give up your whole life for this?”

Lip shook his head, pulling a cigarette out of this front pocket and placing it between his lips. “It’s like you’re not even listening,” he said, flicking his lighter and leaning into the flame. “I’m not giving up my life, this is my life.”

“Well, it’s not mine.”

“Clearly.”

“So what do we do?”

Lip rolled the window of the car down and exhaled smoke into the cold. “I know what I’m going to do. It’s you who has a problem with it.”

“So that’s it? You’d choose this instead of me – these criminals, this terrible part of the city, chancing jail time?”

Lip shook his head angrily, biting his tongue as he opened the car door and jumped out.

“Hey!” Amanda yelled as he slammed the door shut. “Where are you going?”

Lip leaned down to talk through the open passenger’s side window. “Here’s the thing, Amanda,” he said. “I’m not better than any of this – but neither are you. Stop looking down your nose at the other half.”

“Are you kidding? This is it!” she cried. “I can’t keep fighting with you like this!”

“Good,” Lip said evenly, straightening up and ashing his cigarette onto the asphalt. “We’re done.”

 

* * *

 

Eve looked stunning. She wore fitted black pants with a high waist, a thick silver belt, and a royal blue blouse. Her face was made up and her hair was in a high bun on the top of her head. The only sign that she wasn’t headed for a day at a high-end office someplace in New York were her running shoes. A decent criminal always wore practical shoes.

She carried the briefcase. Jimmy trailed a step behind her, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it. This was what it had all been for. Jimmy been there in from the start, he’d set up this meeting - this couldn’t go wrong.

Eve pushed open the doors to Sunan’s Laundromat with all the confidence of a pit bull walking into a henhouse. A tall, stinking man in a dirty grey wife-beater led them into the back room; he was expecting them. The dark halls smelt like sweat and stale beer and piss.

“Piyawat!” Jimmy called out amicably to the man. “How are you, man? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Piyawat shook his head gravely as he pushed open the heavy metal door. “We will see how I am when your boss gets here.”

“Oh,” said Eve lightly, “that would be me.” She pushed past him and into the small room with the little table and single flickering light bulb swinging from the ceiling.

Like the other times Jimmy had been in that room, it was packed with filthy, hard looking Taiwanese men. They crossed their arms over their broad chests, taking care to show off the tattoos they had earned and the teeth they had lost. Sunan stood in the middle of them, laughing at something. He turned around when Eve and Jimmy walked in. “Ah, Jackie Boy,” he smiled. “Good to see you. And what is this beautiful thing you’ve brought with you?” he asked, taking a step forward and leering at Eve. He licked his thin lips. “I like her.”

Eve placed her briefcase up on the table and surveyed the room. “This is not what we agreed to,” she said coolly. “I said you and one man. Did Jack not give you that message or were you unable to understand it?”

Sunan was taken back. “ _You_? You’re the man Jack’s working for?”

“Obviously.”

There was muttering among the men as the few who spoke enough English to follow the conversation translated for the rest.

“You said it was a man,” said Sunan, as he pulled out a seat and sat, putting his feet up on the table. He pulled a joint from behind his ear and lit it. His demeanor as easy but there was a cold edge to his voice. “You lied to me.”

Jimmy shrugged. “And you lied to me. You said it would just be you and one other man. We’re even now.”

Sunan smiled, showing off his rotting yellow teeth. “Yes. I suppose so. Pat them down,” he ordered his men.

Two of them stepped forward. Jimmy was used to this routine by now. He spread his arms and legs and let the skinny man whose name he was pretty sure was ‘Krit’ run his hands up and down his body. He glanced over at Eve. The man patting her down grinned evilly, his hands lingering over her every curve. He took his time, enjoying himself.

Eve seemed unfazed. Hell, she seemed bored.

When Krit and the other man were satisfied, they stepped back and gave Sunan a nod. “So,” said Sunan, suddenly business-like, “shall we begin?”

“No,” Eve answered. “I’ve held up my end of the deal.” She pointed to the briefcase on the table. “But you haven’t. I said two men – you and a companion.”

Sunan muttered something in Thai and a few of the grumbling men began to leave, casting dangerous glares at Eve.

“They’re leaving,” Sunan said. “Sit. We’ll talk.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Jack’s going to watch them drive away, then we’ll talk. I know how this game is played, Sunan.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart,” Sunan grinned, “but I already have the upper hand. This is my house. These are my boys. What are you going to do about it?”

Eve unlatched the briefcase on the table, pulled out a thick wad of faded green bills, and tossed it onto the floor. She looked at Krit. “Pick it up,” she ordered. Krit looked at Sunan for some kind of instruction, but Sunan never took his eyes off Eve. “Pick it up and it’s your’s,” she repeated evenly. “It’s five thousand, even. I’m giving it to you. If you pick it up.”

Krit dove down and picked up the money, flicking his thumb over the stop of the stack. He hastily shoved it into the waist of his pants.

“Your house. My boys,” Eve said.

Jimmy tried not to smile.

“Now fellas,” Eve called to the room at large, her voice filling up the empty space, “Sunan’s going to pick two of you to stay. The rest of you will follow my good friend Jack, hop in our cars, and leave. To reward you for your good behaviour, I’ll give you each five thousand dollars and promise Jack won’t kill any of you today.”

That got a few laughs for the men. Even Eve smiled. Jimmy still didn’t exactly strike fear into the heart. But that had been the plan from the start.

“Give us the money now,” one of the men in the back piped up. “Are we just supposed to trust you?”

Eve’s eyes flashed dangerously. “ _Yes_.”

Sunan licked his dry, cracked lips. “They won’t leave me. These are my cousins, my brothers, my sons – this is family.”

Jimmy tried – but failed – to hold back his laugh. “They won’t see that kind of money for a day’s work here. Fuck, they won’t see it for a month. You’ve got too many mouths to feed, Sunan. They’re hungry.”

Sunan, who still hadn’t looked away from Eve, waved his hand over his head. “Piyawat. Tommy. You stay. Everyone else, go. We have business to do.”

As the men began to leave, Jimmy realized he was supposed to follow them. He tried his best to look intimidating.

One of the men collapsed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Jack, you dirty liar,” he laughed mischievously. “You said you worked for a man. Keeping her all to yourself, eh? Don’t blame you.”

“When do we get our money?” another, skinny, man named Chayan asked, pushing his way through the crowded hallway and up to Jimmy. “If that cunt lied to us –”

“She didn’t. You’ll get it.”

“Stupid bitch,” he spat. “Sunan will fuck her up. You too,” he said warningly. He looked Jimmy in the eye as the finally made it outside onto the street. “Sunan will fuck you up if you try to screw us over. You, your family, your friends. I’ve seen it happen. You think you’re on the inside with him just because you had a fucking beer together a couple times?” Chayan shook his head. “Nah. Just means he knows you now. Knows how to make you hurt.”

“Good to know,” Jimmy said, trying to keep his voice steady and even. His pushed through the front door and led the men outside. “Listen up, guys,” he called as two grey, windowless vans pulled up on the curb. “You get in my vans, my men takes you just outside the city, pay you your fucking money, and leave. By the time you get back, our deal here with be done. And we all go home happy. Agreed?”

“I don’t like this,” Chayan muttered. “This is all bullshit. We should stay here.”

“Then go back inside,” Jimmy offered.

Krit grabbed Chayan’s arm. “Sunan said go. We go.”

“Easy for you to say with a wad of cash in your belt,” Chayan muttered as he followed the other men into one of the vans. “They’re going to kill us.”

“We got guns, idiot,” another man muttered as he jumped into the back of the van. “And there’s only one guy in this car - we’re fine, you coward.”

“All I’m saying,” Chayan complained as he got in the van, “is we better get our money.”

Jimmy nodded to one of the drivers as he shut the van door and both cars began to roll away. Then he unlocked his phone and with shaking hands sent a text _–boss doesn’t want any of them back._

 

 

* * *

 

It was only 6:30 in the evening, but Mickey was already three sheets into the wind. When Mandy came home from work, she found him drinking straight out of a bottle of Jack Daniels, sitting on the sofa in front of Yevgeny, who slept in his cradle.

“Mickey, what the hell?” she cried. “I thought you were supposed to be watching him!”

“Am,” Mickey hiccupped.

“You can’t watch a baby when you’re shitfaced,” she snarled, ripping off her beaver-hat and throwing it onto the table.

“Sure can. He’s sleeping.” Mickey put his finger to his lips and shh-ed her.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mandy snatched the bottle out of Mickey’s hand. “Some dad you’re shaping up to be.”

That rattled Mickey out of his drunken semi-stupor. “Watch what you say,” he warned.

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em,” she snapped. “What if something went wrong, huh? Baby stops breathing or some shit? That happens, you know. You wouldn’t know what to do sober and you’d probably just make it worse like this,” she said, motioning to him as she slammed the bottle of booze down onto the table.

“Why you bustin’ my balls?” Mickey groaned, sinking deeper into the sofa. “Kid’s fine.”

“He is now that I’m fucking home,” Mandy grumbled as she unbuttoned her uniform, left it in a heap on the floor, and pulled on one of Mickey’s hoodies that had been left draped over the coffee table. “But I’m not doing this forever,” she went on. “I’ll help, but this is your responsibility. Don’t think you can start dropping kids on me like I’m Fiona fucking Gallagher.”

Mickey shut his eyes. “It’s hard.”

“Yeah, I know it’s _hard_ , Mick. I watch the damn kid all the time.” She turned around to find Mickey staring at the cradle, his eyes unfocused and blank.

“No,” he said softly, like he was talking to himself. “I mean – when I – looking at the baby. Being around it. It’s hard. For me.”

“He’s your son,” Mandy pointed out, though she spoke softly.

Mickey laughed bitterly at that. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What, you don’t think he is?”

Mickey shook his head dismissively. “Forget it. Don’t you got somewhere to be? I don’t need you here.”

“You don’t. He does,” Mandy said with a nod to Yevgeny as she sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “Just go to bed, Mickey. You’re a mess.”

“Fuck you, I’m a mess. _You’re_ a mess.”

Mandy just shrugged because, really, he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m trying,” Mickey went on, his words slurring together. “I’m doin’ this. ‘S hard. So… courage,” he said, raising his eyebrows, as he picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s by the neck and look a swig.

“Why’s it so hard?” Mandy asked tentatively.

“With the – the – the,” Mickey waved his hand in front of him, trying to remember the word he wanted. “ _Kid_ ,” he finally said. “With the kid, I remember. Oh man, I remember it all. Me and this kid, we got nothin’ else. All I got to think about when I see this kid is – that.”

“Is what?” Mandy asked, her heart starting to speed up. She knew this was not the start of a good conversation.

“And _Gallagher_!” Mickey cried, ignoring her and rambling on as if she hadn’t spoken. “He sat right – right there,” he said, closing one eye and pointing to a seat behind Mandy. “Him and – with blood all over him. Couldn’t – I couldn’t look at him.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Mandy breathed, leaning forward. “What are you talking about? What happened? Is Ian okay?”

Mickey shrugged. “Now, I think. Maybe.”

“Well, are you?”

“Got this baby,” he said, as if that answered her question.

“What does Yevgeny have to do with…” Mandy stopped as the pieces of Mickey’s drunken ramblings started to fit together in her mind. “Mickey,” she said sternly, “tell me what happened.”

Mickey wouldn’t look at her. He just drank and stared at the baby. “Terry,” he said finally. “Found us.”

“You and Ian?”

Mickey nodded. “He was mad – God, Mandy, I thought he was gunna kill us. And if he – if Gallagher – got hurt… If _Ian_...”

“It’s okay,” Mandy breathed, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

Mickey pulled it away.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Jesus, what’s Terry _do_?”

“Had a gun,” Mickey grunted “Told Gallagher to s’down. Pistol whipped me. Couldn’t see – I remember, blood in my eyes, but I blinked and there – there he was, sitting...” Mickey was staring off at the seat behind Mandy again, his voice low, as if he were seeing it all again. “Terry made a call and the she came – the Russian – _Svetlana_.”

Mandy shut her eyes. She could figure out what happened next. “He made you...?”

Mickey grunted and took another drink. “Made him watch. Whole time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mandy asked, her eyes still closed. The look on Mickey’s face was almost more than she could bear.

She opened them again when she heard Mickey laugh bitterly. “That’s some bullshit, coming from you.”

“ _What_?”

“Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?” Mickey demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me what Terry did to you?”

Mandy’s heart leapt into her throat. “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Why do I gotta hear that shit from Gallagher? He thought I _knew_. Why didn’t you _tell_ me? About Terry coming into your room and -”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Mandy barked, running her hands over her face. “Just shut the fuck up. You’ll wake the baby.”

Mickey jumped to his feet, swaying dangerously and still clutching the bottle neck. “No!” His voice rang through the empty house. “I should know that shit! I woulda – woulda…”

Mandy stood up, too. “Would have what, asshole? What the fuck would you have done?”

“Killed him.”

“No,” Mandy said fiercely, poking Mickey hard on his chest. “You didn’t kill him after what he did to you – why would you kill him because of what he did to me?”

All the anger fell away from Mickey’s face. “I love you, Mandy,” he said, his voice calm and even. “That’s why.”

It was suddenly so quiet Mandy could hear her heart hammering in her chest. “Shit,” she sighed. “We’re so fucked up.” She reached out and pulled Mickey into a hug, resting her head on his shoulder. Mickey hugged her back, his hand clutching the back of the hoodie she wore. The baby finally started to cry.

Mandy walked over and picked Yevgeny up, rocking his gently, taking care with his head just like Ian had told her. “You know when he ate?” she asked.

Mickey shrugged. “When Svetlana left.”

Mandy nodded ad headed for the kitchen.

“He’s not mine,” Mickey called after her.

Mandy spun back around. “ _What?_ ”

“Not mine,” he repeated, throwing himself back onto the couch.

“You sure?” Mandy asked, still trying to soothe the baby.

“We both know it – me and Svetlana. She knows I know, but she acts like she don’t. We both do.”

“Why?” Mandy demanded, patting Yevgeny’s back. “Mickey, if he’s not your’s, you could –”

“Dad’s,” Mickey cut in. “Sure of it.”

Mandy felt sick. It shouldn’t have surprised her at this point, but somehow it did. “He know?” she asked. “Terry?”

“Don’t think so. Don’t care.”

“Mickey, if Yevgeny isn’t your kid than you’re not responsible for him,” she rationalized. “Divorce Svetlana and have Dad figure out what to do with them. You can have your life back.”

“ _No_ ,” Mickey said sternly. “No – he doesn’t get this one.”

“But Mickey –”

“You said it. We’re fucked up. Terry’s fucking fault. Not happening – not again. So keep your damn mouth shut, okay?”

Mandy wasn’t sure what to do. It was one of the most selfless things she could remember seeing, and it was coming from _Mickey_ of all people. Selfless or stupid. “Okay,” she promised, still feeling sick. “I will. Go sober up,” she ordered. “We’ll get pizza.”

Mickey grunted his agreement. “The kid?” he asked as he slowly stood back up.

“I’ll feed him,” Mandy said, “its fine.”

“Cool.” Mickey swayed a little as she set his nearly empty bottle back on the table. “Hey – hey Mandy,” he called as she headed for the kitchen. “Thanks.”

Mandy shrugged. “You pay for dinner and we’ll call it even.”

Mickey gave her a smile and nodded. He climbed upstairs as Mandy went to go feed their brother, telling herself that tonight they would make one good memory Mickey could think about when he saw the baby from now on.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy went back inside.

Sunan still sat at the old metal table, though he’d taken his feet down and was sitting up straight, glaring at Eve as Piyawat whispered something in his ear. Tommy watched as Jimmy went and stood beside Eve, who was drumming her fingers on her briefcase impatiently.

When Piyawat stepped back Sunan raised his chin and looked up at Eve defiantly. “Tell me about Nando Souza,” he ordered. “Tell me what happened in Brazil.”

“Jack would know better than I,” Eve said with a shrug. “He was there, too.”

Sunan finally tore his gaze away from Eve are stared at Jimmy. “You never said,” Sunan accused through clenched teeth. Then his face broke into a wide, crinkled smile. “You dog. Was it all lies with you, Jackie? You come into my house, you sit with my boys, you eat my food, you’re offered my girls - I thought we were going to be great business partners.” As quickly as his smile had come, it was gone. Anger filled Sunan’s cold black eyes. “So _why_ ,” he yelled, slamming his fist onto the table, “do I find all these _lies_?”

“No lies,” Jimmy said coolly. “You can trust me Sunan. I said Eve was a man because she wanted to stay anonymous until the deal was agreed to,” he shrugged. “And would you have taken me seriously if I said I worked for a woman?”

“We never took you seriously,” Tommy spat.

Sunan held his hand up for silence. “But you were in Brazil? You knew about Souza?”

“Yes,” Jimmy admitted. “But our relationship was personal. No business. I don’t care what drugs you want to sell where - neither does Eve. We just want the names of you contacts in Taiwan. See? No lies.”

Sunan gritted his teeth. “Why?” he demanded as he narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care about who I buy my goods from? Why is this valuable information?”

“The channels people use to sneak in and out of a country are relevant to my work,” Eve cut in. “There are two groups who typically seek out and abuse these channels - terrorists and human traffickers. The terrorists are usually smarter, better funded, and more dangerous. I’m picking the low-hanging fruit first.”

“It’s not just me - there are many of us in this city,” Sunan said quickly. “There’s a whorehouse in a basement four blocks Wills Tower, and right in this neighbourhood the top of some bar is - ”

“I know,” Eve interrupted. “I’ve seen most of them already. The toughest cases are the ones that make good money from their whores. Have you heard of a pimp named Sasha?”

Sunan nodded slowly. “Russian bitch.”

“You’re lucky it’s me who got to you and not her. She’s taking down any prostitution ring she can, any way she can. Supply and demand. She’s smart and she’s dangerous and I promise you she will not show up here with a case full of money, shake your hand, and leave.”

Sunan mulled this over. “So why not go to her directly? She’ll have names for you - she moves three times the bodies we do.”

“I have been to see her,” Eve answered. “We’re still... negotiating. But like I said - low hanging fruit first.”

Jimmy watched as Tommy’s hand hovered nervously over the gun in his waistband. “She killed Souza, boss,” he said suddenly. “We don’t want business with her. If she can get to him, she can get to - ”

Sunan turned around in his seat. “If I want your fucking opinion, I’ll ask for it,” he barked. He turned back to Eve. “Fifty thousand to shut me down, ten thousand for each name. Is that right?”

Eve nodded. “Fifty now. The rest when we see if the names are any good. You don’t get money for words.”

Sunan gave a curt nod. “Fine. Deal.”

Eve smiled. “Excellent. Now, I just need to tie up some loose ends. How many girls do you have here?”

“Fourteen,” Sunan answered. “But they’re mine. Five thousand a head, if you want them.”

Eve widened her eyes incredulously are she pulled a notepad out of her briefcase and scanned the numbers she’d written. “That’s pretty steep considering I’ve heard their blowjobs are only worth ten bucks a pop. What condition are they in?”

Sunan grinned again. “Let’s just say - gently used.”

“Teeth?”

“Most of them.”

“Pregnant?”

“None.”

“Abortions?”

“Six abortions for five girls this year.”

“How?” Eve asked, still business-like. “Hanger?”

“Old medicine,” Sunan explained. “No unnecessary external damage.”

Eve went back to her notes. “English?”

“Some numbers, some dirty talk. They don’t understand what they’re saying, it’s a script.”

“Ages?”

“Fourteen to twenty-three.”

“Christ, that’s young,” Jimmy muttered, shaking his head as he flexed his hands. “People really want a fourteen year old?”

“When she was eleven she made us a fortune,” Sunan sneered.

Jimmy closed his eyes as the image for a little girl with bright red pigtails in a purple bathroom flashed through his mind. _What’d that set you back, about six bills?_ He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt like he might reach over the table and choke Sunan to death right then.

Eve noticed his change in mood and glared at him out of the corner of her eye. This had to go well - there was no room for emotions in work like this. She flipped to another page of her notes. “I assume they’re malnourished. How often do you rape them?”

Sunan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No rape here. What I own is mine. You don’t take a cookie from your own jar and call it stealing.”

Eve just nodded, staring at her paper.

It had taken Jimmy a long time to learn how to read Eve. She had long since learned how to keep any and all expression off of her face. But Jimmy knew she wasn’t reading; her eyes never moved across the page. She was calculating.

“I’ve heard enough,” she finally said. “We’ll take them.” She turned to Jimmy and nodded.

He nodded back. Show time.

“Excellent,” said Sunan as even Piaywat smiled. “Boys, we’ll be the kings of the Southside with this kind of coin.”

“Hell, we’ll run Chicago,” Piaywat laughed.

Eve moved to hand over the briefcase, but Jimmy stopped her. “Wait,” he said cautiously. Jimmy had always been a good liar, but his heart still raced in his chest. “We can’t give them the money like this.”

“Why?” asked Eve innocently. “Jack, I want this deal done.”

“Me too,” agreed Sunan angrily.

“They’re armed,” Jimmy pointed out. “Three guns and all the money? What’s to stop them from shooting us in the back of the head after they get what they want?”

“Jackie,” Sunan said slowly, leaning over the table, “I could have shot you at any point during this little meeting if I had wanted to. Why would I kill you now when your lady isn’t going to give us the rest of our money until she decides our information is good? Pay attention.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Because with us dead, you’d be fifty thousand richer, get to keep your business, and we’d never know who your contacts are.” He looked imploringly at Eve. “We can’t.”

“What?” Piaywat asked with a smirk. “Suddenly you don’t trust us?”

Eve heaved a sigh. “He’s right.”

“So now what?” Sunan asked, annoyed.

“What about,” Jimmy said suddenly, as if a brilliant idea had just come to him, “you just... just put your guns on the table? Out of arms reach. Then you get the money and we leave. Easy.”

Sunan rolled his eyes, pulled his gun out of his pants, and slammed it onto the table. “Happy?”

Eve nodded.

Tommy and Piaywat followed suit, grumbling as they did.

“Better?” Sunan asked, holding up his empty hands.

“Yes, thank you.” Eve grabbed her briefcase and slid it across the table. Sunan grabbed it, his eyes widening greedily as he flipped it open.

Jimmy laughed and walked around the table, pushing his way in front of them. He grabbed Tommy’s hand first and shook it. “Look at that! I told you this would go well!”

Sunan clasped him on the shoulder with one hand, the other hand holding on tightly to a wad of bills. “Jackie Boy, I knew I liked you!”

The four men laughed and congratulated each other until they heard the first gunshot and Tommy fell to the ground.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Carl. It’s been a while, son. Fiona know you’re here?”

“No.”

“She won’t be happy.”

“I wanted to - to see you, I guess.”

“Been long enough.”

“Sorry Frank. I’ve just... I’ve just been thinking.”

“Try not to do too much of that - in my experience, it never ends well.”

“...you’re sick, aren’t you?”

“Hey, now. I might be a bit eccentric, bit _sick_?”

“No, no. I mean - for real sick.”

“Oh God, not you too. I thought you were on my side.”

“I am!”

“Then why haven’t you been to see you’re old man?”

“It’s just... something Debbie said. About trying to get people to.... never mind.”

“That red-headed witch? What a brat she turned out to be, eh?”

“Stop it, Frank.”

“Why are you here, Carl?”

“I was thinking about Ian.”

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

“He’s sick.”

“So I heard.”

“Bipolar. He works really hard to get better. For himself - but for us, too.”

“So?”

“You don’t.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I decided that... that I like, care about you or whatever. But you need to get better. You can’t... you can’t be good... like, to me. You make me feel like shit sometimes.”

“Oh please. I worked my ass off for you kids for years.”

“We all have to work, Frank. That doesn’t make you special. Ian - he’s teaching me how to box, you know.”

“I don’t want to talk about fucking _Ian_.”

“Okay. I just came to say goodbye, Frank. For a while.”

“Wait - no. Carl? Carl! Carl, don’t just leave me here! ...Carl?”

 

* * *

 

Piyawat was the first to move. He forced Jimmy into a headlock, punching him in the gut and screaming something in Thai. Sunan moved for his gun on the table, but it wasn’t there. He looked up at Eve, standing across him with a smoking gun in her hands, grinning.

“You stupid cunt!” he screamed. “Where’s my fucking gun? Where’s my _fucking gun_?”

“I have it,” Eve answered calmly. “Don’t worry.”

“Tommy!” Piyawat was yelling. “Tommy, get up!”

Jimmy struggled to get away, doubled over and pulling helplessly at the thick arm around his neck.

“I would let him go, if I were you,” Eve said calmly. She refused to raise her voice; she would not fight be heard, she would make them listen.

Sunan stood across the table, breathing hard, eyes on fire, as he tried to work out his next move. “Why?” he finally demanded. “We’re going to snap with skinny fucking neck.”

“He’s a doctor,” Eve explained. “And your friend could use one of those right now.”

“Bullshit! You lying piece of - ”

“Sunan!” Piyawat yelled. “Do something! Help him!”

“Kill that fucking rat in your arms!” Sunan ordered.

Piywat’s arm pressed harder into Jimmy’s throat. Jimmy clawed and pulled at it, but he his head was light and dizzy and his world was slowly going dark.

“This is so cliché,” Eve sighed, sounding bored. “Honestly, why do I even waste my time with this?”

“You killed Tommy!” Piyawat cried. “I swear, I’ll rip your heart out of your chest you stupid - ”

“Let Jack look at him. He might be able to save him.”

Piyawat looked at Sunan for guidance, but Sunan never took his cold black eyes off of Eve. Slowly, Piyawat let Jimmy go. “Fix him,” he ordered.

Jimmy fell to the ground, gasping and coughing. “I - I - can’t - ”

“She said you could save him!”

“ _Might_ save him,” Eve piped up.

“Shut your mouth, cunt.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Always with the sexist slurs, can’t you guys be a little creative?”

Piyawat ignored her and kicked Jimmy in the ribs. “Are you gunna fucking _sit there_ or are you going to _save him_ , you stupid lying sack of dog shit?”

“Temper, temper,” Eve tsked.

Jimmy ignored them, dragged himself over to Tommy’s body. He was lying on his back, a bullet hole in his chest. Jimmy pressed his hands to it, but there was no real reason to; his heart had stopped pumping a while ago. As his hands and sleeves soaked with Tommy’s blood, Jimmy thought of Tommy sitting across from him two weeks ago as they played cards, a joint hanging out of his mouth, saying “Hey Jackie, I got one for yah. Why are ghosts such bad liars? You can see right through them!”

 Jimmy shook his head. He couldn’t concentrate. Eve was talking to Sunan and Piyawat - he knew, vaguely, what she was saying. She had explained it all to him earlier, walked him through it like he was a child. She would remind Sunan and Piyawat that she had the rest of his men; that they had no choice but to listen to her. Tommy had been a mistake - there were only supposed to be two of them. Jimmy knew why she had let Sunan keep two of his men; killing him had sent a very clear message.

Jimmy had hated Tommy. Hell, he hated all of these men. But the empty-eyed body string wide-eyed at the ceiling sent chills down Jimmy’s spine. There was blood everywhere. All over him. He was reminded - ridiculously - of some long forgotten high school English class. _Out damned spot_.

Another shot.

Jimmy watched as Sunan collapsed on to the floor, Piyawat diving after him.

“Just his shoulder, relax,” he could hear Eve saying.

Some scuffling. Some yelling. Jimmy told himself to focus, but all he could think about was the night, a million years ago, when he’s burned his bloodied clothes in a trash can. Fiona had been there. Fiona had brought him back to life. But there was no Fiona this time.

“ _Jack_. Jack, are you listening?”

Jimmy looked up. Eve was talking to him; Sunan and Piyawat were gone. “We’re leaving.”

Jimmy nodded. He followed her out of the room and down a dark hall, holding out his bloodied hands in front of him. “Where are we going?” he asked. “The door’s the other way.”

“There’s one more thing I want to take care of.”


	8. Fix What’s Broken

 

All Jimmy could smell was gasoline.

Eve stood in front of the laundromat, fourteen women in dingy clothes huddled beside her. She lit a match and passed it to one of the women. The woman - a girl, really - held it for a moment and watched it burn. Then she walked up to the now-empty building and flung the match at it.

The place went up in seconds. Some of the women cried. Some of them laughed. All of them let the memories of that place burn up with the wood and plaster.

“What are we gunna do with them?” Jimmy asked as Eve led them all to one of her black vans.

“Drop them off at a shelter. There’s one just down the road.”

“And then what?” Jimmy pressed. “They’ll be deported.”

Eve shrugged. “Anywhere is better than here.”

“Fine,” Jimmy said, helping one of the girls into the van. “But what about Sunan? Where did he go?”

“Home, probably. To lick his literal and metaphorical wounds. Keep an on him.”

“I don’t know where he is!” Jimmy cried. “Get one of your other goons to do it.”

Eve shook her head. “You and I just fucked up everything those assclowns had ever worked for. They’re scared of you now, Jack. You’re not some anonymous gangster. You’ll ruin their lives.”

“But I -”                                     

“Get those names, Jack,” she said, hopping into the van herself.

“How?”

“You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”

 

* * *

 

 

“No way, Charmander is definitely the best.”

“I’m telling you, man, Squirtle is where it’s at. You remember how badass it gets when it grows up or whatever? Into that giant thing? That thing would fuck you up.”

“But Charmander is a _dragon_!”

Mickey laughed. “Whatever. When my Squirtle and your Charmander fight, we’ll see who wins.”

Ian laughed, too. “Fuck it, I’ll just get Pikachu.”

They turned a corner and headed back toward Mickey’s house, cutting through an alley that stank of weed and piss, lined with overflowing garbage cans and graffiti. They were coming back from dinner together (some average chain restaurant, nothing special, but the best dinner Ian could remember having because _Mickey_ were there and they were _together_ around _people_ and when Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand over the table Mickey _let_ him) and were walking home, high on their own with freedom.

“Nah, fuck that little rat,” Mickey said, lighting a cigarette. “I’m staying with my turtle, turtles are fucking cool.”

Ian shoved Mickey playfully. “You don’t know shit about Pokémon. Me and Lip spent hours playing that stupid game when we were kids – we used to swipe so many cards from that corner store, must have been at least five hundred dollars’ worth. So when I say Charmander is –”

Mickey laughed out loud. “Okay, fine! You win, shit. Who cares?”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s free hand as Mickey took another smoke. “Ha, gottcha.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey grinned. “Whatever. You can keep your lame-ass kids show.”

Ian leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“Don’t try to butter me up, Gallagher,” Mickey warned, trying – but failing – to seem angry as they made their way out of the alley and onto a poorly lit street. “You know I’m right. Whose gunna win in a fight – the guy with the water or the guy with the fire? Obviously the water so –”

A new, loud voice came from across the street. “Hey Jay, get a load of this. Fucking _fags_!”

Mickey’s head snapped around as he dropped Ian’s hand. “The _fuck_ you say to me?” he yelled as he took three long steps toward two men on the other side of the road, dropping his cigarette, his hands already clenched into fists.

Ian grabbed his shoulder. “Mick, don’t –”

Mickey shrugged him off. “You!” he called. “You wanna fucking say that again?”

One of the men in a green hoodie and dirty jeans took a step forward. “Called you a couple of fucking fags.” He nudged his friend and laughed.

“Say it again!” Mickey yelled, already heading across the street to meet them.

Ian trailed behind him. “Come on, just leave it,” he begged.

But Mickey didn’t hear him. He puffed out his chest and shouted, “say it again and I swear to God I’ll bash your thick skull right into that curb!”

“Fucking cocksucking queer!” the other man, the one called Jay, yelled. “What are you gunna do? Think you can take us with that limp fucking wrist?”

By the time Mickey was across the street, his arm was already raised. He grabbed the first kid’s hoodie and punched him hard, sending him stumbling backwards. The kid spit blood onto the sidewalk and laughed. “Jay,” he said to his friend. “Let’s pound this dick-muncher into the fucking ground.”

Jay ran at Mickey, but Mickey was faster than he expected. He moved slightly to the left, so when Jay knocked into his shoulder, he was able to stay on his feet.

“You know what we do to faggots like you in this neighbourhood?” Jay yelled. “ _Do you_?”

Ian ran up behind Mickey, his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes darting between the men. They were tall but scrawny, underfed. Ian could take them. He just didn’t want to.

Mickey stepped toward Jay. “You gunna fucking show me or you just gunna run your mouth, _bitch_?”

Gage pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and grinned at his friend. “Hear that, Jay? Cum-breath wants to play!”

The rest was a blur. When Ian tried to make sense of it later, all he could remember was his raw, burning throat and the dread deep in his stomach.

Mickey somehow knocked the kid named Gage into the brick wall of a building, sending the blade bouncing off the sidewalk. Ian kicked it away, his mind racing.

Jay was on Mickey before he could do anything else; Jay’s thick arm wrapped around Mickey’s neck, yanking him away from Gage, as Mickey clawed and bit and hacked away at him.

Ian stepped up, kicked out the back of Jay’s knees sending both him and Mickey to the cold concrete ground. Mickey rolled around, got himself on top of Jay and wailed on him mercilessly, his knee pressed into Jay’s chest.

“Fuck you!” Mickey yelled, spitting blood onto the kids face. Nothing else in the world existed for Mickey except the kid on the concrete in front of him. His blood felt like fire and it pounded through him. Somewhere, very far away, he could almost hear Ian yelling for him. It was easy to push out of his head. “ _Fuck you_!”

But Gage was up again, and he tackled Mickey, throwing him on the ground with such force that Mickey felt a searing pain shoot up his shoulder and radiate all the way down to his hand.

Jay turned to one side, spitting blood onto the ground, moaning something angrily, his hands covering his bloody face.

Mickey and Gage wrestled. Something – fist, knee, elbow – hit Mickey on the side of his face, unbalanced him, knocked him into a streetlight.

For Mickey, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, except for what was directly in front of him. There was no street, there were no buildings, there was no Ian; only bloodied flesh and his absolute rage.

But not for Ian. Ian saw everything as if it happened in slow motion. Mickey took on the two by himself, wide and angry and unbalanced. He fought dirty and hard, biting, stomping, scratching, twisting. Mickey didn’t want to just win the fight – he wanted to make them _hurt_.

Ian just wanted it all to end. It was chaos, but a chaos Ian understood. He knew how to fight. He could stop this. These two idiots might be tough, but they were unoriginal at best - Ian knew exactly what they’d do before they’d made a move. He stepped up and hauled Gage off of Mickey, spending him sprawling onto the ground. Ian raced over to Mickey, who was doubled over, holding onto to his aching ribs. But Gage was on his feet again, just as Jay was slowly starting to pick himself up off the ground. Mickey tried to straighten himself out, breathing fast and hard, looking in time to see Ian let out one quick blow to Gage’s neck, sending him staggering backward, clutching his throat. Ian, his eyes always on Jay’s face and upper chest, brought his elbow on hard on Jay’s shoulder. Jay went down again. Gage didn’t, but Ian easily fell into the rhythm he remembered so well. It was over quickly; Ian didn’t fight to hurt, he fought to stop.

“Fuck you...” Jay gasped as he tried to sit back up. “Get over here... I’m gunna... gunna kill you...”

Ian ignored him, and found Mickey sitting against the brick wall, breathing fast. “You okay?” he asked, running his hands over Mickey’s chest, trying to feel if there was anything out of place.

“Fine,” Mickey coughed. “I’m fine. Would you... get off... me?” he wheezed, pushing Ian away.

“I just want to...”

Both of them were distracted by the sound of sirens and flashing lights at the top of the alleyway. Two place cruisers came to a screeching stop.

“ _Shit_ ,” Mickey breathed.

 

* * *

 

 

Fiona slowly climbed up the stairs, a scrap of paper with a smudged address clenched tightly in her fist. She wasn’t sure why she decided to come - she told herself it she wanted answers, she wanted closure, she wanted proof that she was right about him all along. But Kev’s voice kept drifting back through her mind - “seriously, Fiona, the guy’s a wreck. Something’s really gone wrong.”

She didn’t feel sorry for him. She wouldn’t. He left her. Everybody always leaves.

She was at his door before she knew it.

Fiona shook her head, trying to think of a reason to turn around and leave. There were a million of them, she knew. She just couldn’t think of any. All she should think was that Jimmy was there, right there, behind that stupid door.

She knocked.

A tall woman with long, dark hair opened the door. “Yes?”

“Sorry,” Fiona said quickly, taking a step back. “I must have the wrong apartment. I was looking for -”

A clatter form inside. “ _Fiona_?”

The woman turned and looked behind her. “Jack,” she said, with a bit of a laugh, “I’m guessing it’s for you.”

Jimmy was practically tripping over his feet when he got to the door, a huge smile on his face. “Fiona, I... I didn’t think you’d come!”

Fiona looked from the woman to Jimmy, her mind racing for some way out of this ridiculous situation she’d let herself walk right into. “While clearly, I shouldn’t have,” she finally said, glaring at him and cocking her head to the side.

Jimmy looked confused. “What? No - no, stay! What’s wrong?”

Fiona motioned to the woman with her head. “Again? Seriously? What is this, your new wife? And a new name, too, how shocking!” She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “I should have known better,” she said, backing away. “This was a mistake.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” sighed the woman, sounding bored, as she stepped aside as if to let Fiona in. “Jack and I play for the same team. As for the name, call him whatever you want. But in our line of work it’s best to use a pseudonym. Trust me.”

“Please,” Jimmy pleaded, his eyes as wide and soft as they had always been, “please just come inside, Fiona. Just for a minute. I’ll explain this.”

“I was just leaving,” the woman added. She slung an expensive-looking bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the hall beside Fiona. “Don’t worry,” she said with a grin, “he doesn’t bite.”

“He never did,” Fiona muttered.

The woman laughed. “Shame, isn’t it?” With that, she sauntered off to the elevator.

Jimmy stood in the doorway for a minute, staring at Fiona like he couldn’t believe she was actually there. “Hey,” he finally said. “That was, uh...” Jimmy rubbed the back of his next awkwardly. “That was Eve.”

“Oh really? Or is that just her _pseudonym_ , Jack?”

“Do you... do you wanna come in?”

Fiona pulled off her hat and nodded. “I need a drink,” she mumbled, sending Jimmy racing into the kitchen as she hung up her coat.  When she had imagined what it would be like to talk to Jimmy - _really_ talk to him - again, she hadn’t been this damn nervous.

“So you went to Kev,” she said, taking the beer Jimmy offered her and sitting down on hileather sofa.

“Yeah... yeah, I did. Figured I needed to try someone who wasn’t a Gallagher.”

Fiona just raised her eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

“Guess it worked,” Jimmy grinned, cracking open his own beer. He sat tentatively on the other side of the couch, as if Fiona were some bird he was terrified would fly away if he made any sudden movements.

Fiona just glared at him.

His grin melted away. “Do you - um - want me to start?”

Fiona rolled her eyes and took a drink. “Let me tell you why I’m here,” she started angrily. “I don’t want to hear any apologies or explanations; I don’t care why you did what you did. I’m just here to get you to answer my questions. And then that’s it. Then we’re done. I... I don’t want to see you after this,” she added, still angry, but quiet.

Jimmy nodded slowly, biting his lip. “Fine,” he finally agreed. “I’ll answer anything you want.”

“Michigan.”

“Not really a question.”

“Why the fuck did you lie to me about Michigan?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Fiona, if you only knew the other shit that -”

Fiona held up her hand. “Shut up. Just my questions.”

“I lied to you because I thought it would be easier than lying to Nando. Estefania’s father. He wanted me with her - only her. He’d know if you and I were together if I brought you and five kids to come live with me. I was protecting you.”

“Unbelievable. That’s bullshit.”

“I was trying to!” Jimmy insisted.

“Did you just forget what happened the last time I saw you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Really? Because I didn’t. You couldn’t stand living with us. In our _slum_.”

Jimmy lowered his eyes and shook his head, ripping at the wet corner of the label on his beer bottle. “I didn’t mean that. Not really. I was angry. But... but I didn’t... we could have worked through it.”

Fiona laughed out loud. “Right. Which was why you took off on me that night.”

“No! No, I did not take off,” Jimmy insisted, sitting up and leaning forward. “That night - that same night we fought - Nando pulled me onto his boat.”

“The drug lord,” Fiona said flatly.

“Exactly. Look, do you remember a man. A man who used to sit outside in an Escalade in front of the house?”

Fiona shook her head. “What are you...?”

“He gave you money,” Jimmy interrupted, speaking quickly. “He must have. You’ve gotta remember a random guy giving you a wad of cash.”

Fiona paused for a moment, her mind racing. “Yeah,” she finally said. “Yeah, I remember. He was with you? He said... he said he was just looking out for me. For all of us, you know.”

Jimmy nodded, feeling more confident now that he seemed to have Fiona’s attention. “He was. He was sent by Nando to watch me - make sure I didn’t get into any trouble so there were no INS problems for Estefania. But watching me meant watching you guys. He cared about you, Fiona, all of you. He couldn’t help it. He’d never really admit it, but I know he did. That money,” Jimmy went on, not breaking eye contact with Fiona as he spoke, “was not his to give. That was money for me and Estefania to start a life together. That was _Nando’s_ money.”

Fiona felt her chest tighten. “Shit, is someone gunna come lookin’ for it? Cause I don’t have it anymore.”

Jimmy just nodded reassuringly. “It’s fine. The money wasn’t the problem. Nando had money. It was the fact that his man - Beto - would give his money to some woman. It was a loyalty thing.”

“So what does this have to do with you?” she asked.

“That night - the night we fought,” Jimmy continued, more subdued now, “Nando had Beto bring me onto his boat. I had fucked up.  It doesn’t matter how, but he was not happy with me. I was... I was so sure, Fi... so sure I was never going to see you again. They took my phone, my wallet, my keys. Everything. I thought they were going to kill me, I swear to God.”

“So why didn’t they?” Fiona asked, trying her best to sound cold, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

Jimmy licked his lips and starting pulling at the beer label again, staring down at his hands. “They... they still needed me, I guess. Nando had this whole story worked out with me and Estefania. It would be suspicious to change it - for her to get married to some other American right after I died, right? But Beto... Beto was his man. Nando trusted him with his life, with his daughter’s life. So, when he found out what Beto did with the money... they he gave his money to _you_... The guy had a temper,” Jimmy finally concluded. “He was a Gemini.”

Fiona shook her head, helplessly confused. “What? So what happened to him? This Beto guy?”

“They shot him.”

“What?”

“One shot,” Jimmy said softly. “Right through the head. Nando regretted it later, I think. But he felt betrayed.”

“Shit,” Fiona breathed.

Jimmy stared at the wall in front of his as he spoke, his eyes glazed over. “I was standing behind him. He - his blood... my face, my shirt, my hands...”

Fiona sighed and looked around the room - anywhere but at Jimmy. It was a nice place, tastefully decorated and full of expensive electronics. It seemed like Jimmy was finally living the dream, and with a hot lesbian roommate on top of that. But Jimmy’s monotone voice, the bags under his glassy eyes, the way he had completely deflated in front of her told her that Kev had been right - something was wrong.

“I... I’m sorry,” Fiona finally managed to say.

“Yeah, me too.”

“So what happened then? If they couldn’t kill you, what did with you?”

“Well,” Jimmy sighed, finally looking back at her, “I sure as shit didn’t go to Michigan.”

 

* * *

 

 

By midnight the police had hauled Mickey off to be questioned. The room was small and starkly lit and all too familiar for Mickey. “Look,” he barked at the cop who sat across from him, “am I under arrest or not? Because the way I see it, you’ve got no reason to hold me here.”

The cop flipped through some papers. “You and your friend did just beat two guys senseless. One of them has a broken nose.”

Mickey shrugged. “Self-defense.”

Another cop leaned against the wall. “They say you took the first swing.”

“Where’s Ian?” Mickey demanded impatiently. “I need to talk to him.”

The first cop leaned forward. “Why? Your stories not going to match up?”

“No,” Mickey spat, “he was supposed to take his meds at nine. I don’t know if he did or not.”

The two policemen looked at each other. “Meds? Mr. Gallagher is on medication?”

“None of your fucking business. Now can I see him or not?”

“No.”

The second cop took a few steps toward the table. “Just tell us what happened. We don’t want to be here anymore than you do, Milkovich.”

“I _told_ you,” Mickey growled through clenched teeth, “those two assholes were running their fucking mouths, so I stopped them.”

“Define ‘running their mouths’.”

Mickey looked the officer across from him in the eye. “They called us fags,” he said bluntly.

The cop just shook his head. “Really? That’s it, _that’s_ why you had to start a fight?”

Mickey leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t want them to upset my boyfriend.”

The two officers looked at each other, then looked back to Mickey, who just shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

The second office chewed his lip for a minute, thinking. “So – so you really are…?”

“Gay?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sure am,” he answered. “And Gadget and Jabber, or whoever the fuck they are, saw me and Ian together. Didn’t like it. What was I supposed to do?”

The second officer sighed. “They didn’t mention that.”

“Shocking,” Mickey muttered. “Can you just go do your damn job so I don’t have to? They were all ready to fag-bash but they messed with the wrong queers. Okay?”

The first cop ran his hand down his face and sighed. “This is gunna be a long night.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ian sat in a hallway while a bored-looking cop stood next to him. They wouldn’t tell him where Mickey was or what was happening to him, but he was pretty sure Mickey wasn’t under arrest, since he figured he would have been just as guilty and they hadn’t even bothered to cuff him.

Still, his heart was pounding in his chest. What if they could get Mickey some other charge, something that Ian didn't even know about? Ian's mind raced - was he still selling coke? Robbing stores? What if they had video footage? What if they had fingerprints?

Ian tried to calm himself down. Mickey hadn't been in any real trouble in a while. This was nothing; this was going to be okay.

But the thought of Mickey in prison, away from him for who knew how long, was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

He pulled out his phone and texted Mickey a few times _– where are you?, what are they doing?, are you all right?, let me know what’s going on_. Then he texted Lip _– me and Mick got in a fight with two idiots. Stuck at the police station. Might need bail money_.

His phone buzzed in his hand and Ian’s heart jumped, praying it was Mickey. But it was Lip – _you good? Need me to come now?_

_I'm fine and not yet,_ Ian typed. _Don't tell Fiona_ , he added.

“Ian?” someone asked from down the hall. Ian looked up and saw Tony half-jog over to where he was sitting. He looked at the cop leaning against the wall. “Ryerson, I got this.”

“You know him?” the cop named Ryerson asked.

“Took him in a few times,” Tony said nonchalantly. “Grew up in the neighbourhood.” Ryerson just shrugged and left. Tony rounded on Ian. “What are you doing here? You took terrible,” he said, looking at the darkening bruise on the left side of Ian’s face.

“You should see the other guy,” Ian said.

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.”

Tony ran his hand over her face. “Come on, Ian. What happened? Need me to call anyone?”

“No,” Ian said quickly. “But can you find out where Mickey is?”

“Mickey?” Tony repeated.

“Yeah. Milkovich. I was with him. They hauled him off somewhere about an hour ago.”

Tony sighed, exasperated. “What the hell are you doing hanging out with that guy? You're a good kid, Ian. You should stay away from him. He's trouble.”  
Despite everything, Ian had to laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

Nika was talking about getting a motorcycle and driving across the country. She sat across from Svetlana at some average barbeque restaurant, licking sauce off her fingers and talking about never having to see the snow again. “I’ve almost saved up enough now,” Nika went on, with a gleam in her eye. “Gas is gunna be a bitch, but I can always just siphon some when things get tight.”

“Siphon?” Svetlana repeated, confused.

“Yeah. Suck it out of another tank and put it in mine. Jeez, what do they teach you in those stupid English classes?”

“Now we do conditional phrases,” Svetlana answered, pushing around the food on her plate.

Nika scoffed. “Lot of good that’ll do yah. I can teach you English just fine.”

Svetlana shrugged. “It won’t be for much longer anyway. Mickey, he says we close in few weeks.”

“Will you be ready by then?” Nika asked seriously.

“For what?”

“To leave.”

“To leave where?”

“Jesus, Svety, weren’t you listening?” Nika cried, grinning and grabbing Svetlana’s hand. “California! Texas! Arizona! Wherever you want!”

“With you?” Svetlana asked. “On motorbike?”

“Yes! Babe, aren’t you excited?”

Svetlana pulled her hand away. “What about Yevgeny? A baby cannot be on a motorbike.”

Nika shrugged. “Leave him here. Your shit-stain husband can take care of him for a while.”

Svetlana shook her head. “No, no - you know I cannot do it.”

“Just for a bit, babe. I mean, it’s not like he’s gunna remember anything from when he was a baby anyways. We’ll come back for him when he’s a cute little kid.”

Svetlana put down her fork. “Nika, I will not leave him. He is family.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “Just hear me out.”

“No.”

Nika grabbed Svetlana’s hands again, holding them tightly. “Listen to me. They treat you like shit here. For fuck’s sake, your husband is your _pimp_. You have no life outside of him and your baby - don’t you want to _live_? You deserve great things. Let me give them to you.”

Svetlana bit her lip.

“So what do you say?” Nika pressed, gently squeezing Svetlana’s hands. “There’s more to this country than this frozen dump.”

“Nika,” Svetlana sighed, “you... take care of me.”

Nika smiled. “Of course I do. You’re my girl.”

“I know... but...” Svetlana shook her head. “I know I am supposed to go. But I cannot leave Yevgeny. Without him, I will die.”

Nika sat back in her seat, trying to sort through this. “What did you mean,” she said after a long pause, “you’re ‘supposed to go’?”

Svetlana shrugged. “You do things for me. Give me things. Take me places. I know I am supposed to do what you ask.”

Nika pressed her hands over her eyes.”Svety, that is all kinda of fucked up.”

“It is how world works,” Svetlana explained seriously. “People who have give to people who make them happy. I do not have. I make happy.”

“My God, I’m not one of your damn johns asking for a ten dollar handjob!” Nika cried.

Half the restaurant turned in their seats to stare. Neither of them noticed.

“I know,” Svetlana said reassuringly. “You are much more.”

“Then why won’t you go with me? I want to make _you_ happy - not the other way around.”

“I won’t leave Yevgeny.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you wanted the fucking kid in the first place!”

All the softness left Svetlana’s face. “He is only one!” she cried, bringing her hand down hard on the table.

Nika sat back in her seat, staring at Svetlana as if she’d never seen her before.

“Only one,” Svetlana said again, softer this time, “that does not need to be made happy.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He loves me, Nika.”

“He’s a baby. Babies don’t love. He only wants you around because you feed him and change his diaper.”

Svetlana glared at Nika, more full of hate then she could remember being in a long time. “And you only want me around because I make you feel wanted and important.”

“What did you say to me?”

“Is true.”

Nika laughed and shook her head. “You know what? Fuck you, Svetlana.”

“You’re angry, but is the truth. I know how this works. My whole life is dealing with people who I need to make feel wanted and important. But not my baby - he is the only one. The only one different.”

Nika clenched her jaw and stabbed at the pork on her plate. “So I’m just another person you please? No different from the fucking scum bags who you let jizz all over you every week?”

“You are different,” Svetlana admitted. “You are my favourite.”

Nika laughed. “This is _bullshit_. Do you wanna know something - you’re fucked up. And not in a cool way, not like I thought. You are the most fucked up person I’ve ever met. Do you even know what a relationship is? _Any_ relationship? Have you ever had a real one? A fucking _friend_ , even?”

Svetlana lowered her eyes and focused on tearing up her napkin.

“I ain’t wasting my time trying to fix what’s broken,” Nika muttered, standing up. “I’m getting me stuff and I’m gone. Have fun with your fucking baby.”

Svetlana sat there for a long while after Nika had left, realizing that none of this surprised her. Things always ended this way.

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey pushed through the door of the interrogation room angrily, stepping out into the lobby and swearing under his breath.

Ian jumped up and rushed over to him. Throwing his arms around Mickey was instinct; it wasn't until half a second after he did it that he realized Mickey might not like it.

But Mickey hugged him back, hard, and Ian felt everything in his world fall back into place for a moment. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Mickey murmured gently into Ian's neck. “They had nothin’.” He backed up and held onto Ian's shoulders, looking him in the eye. “You okay? They bug you or anything? You take your meds? It's almost one. You eat?”

“I’m fine, Mickey,” Ian said, trying to sound annoyed although he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. “The fuck took them so long in there? I sent Tony to try and find you and all he could say was that you weren’t under arrest but you were being questioned.”

One of the cops that had been in the interrogation room with Mickey stepped forward. “I take it you’re Mr. Gallagher?”

“Yeah. Can we go now?”

The officer nodded. “We scared those two guys pretty good - threw in words like ‘hate-crime’ and ‘ten to fifteen years’. They're not pressing charges.”

“Why would they?” Ian demanded. “They started it.”

“Let’s just go,” Mickey said. He looked exhausted. “We’re done here.”

Walking out of the police station, Ian could see Tony talking quietly with another cop. He looked up as Ian and Mickey passed and shook his head. “No,” Tony said, just loud enough for Ian to overhear. “Really? _Together_? Those two?”

Mickey pulled a cigarette out of his front pocket and lit is as they stepped outside. “You’d think one of those donut-eatin’ sacks of shit would give us a ride home. Now we gotta freeze our asses off.”

“It’s not that cold,” Ian reasoned.

“Cold enough.”

Ian buried his hands in his pockets and stared down at his feet. “You shouldn't have done that,” he muttered, kicking an empty beer can while Mickey put his cigarettes away.

“Done what?”

“You shouldn’t have picked a fight with those guys.”

Mickey stopped. “Excuse me? You wanna fucking repeat that, because it sounded like you were blaming me.”

Ian kept walking, shaking his head. “You can’t just go and beat the shit out of every asshole on the street.”

“The fuck I can’t,” Mickey snapped, following a step behind Ian. “What’s up with you? Two minutes ago you were happy to see me and now you won’t even look at me?”

Ian stopped and turned around abruptly. “There. I’m looking. Happy?”

“No, I’m not happy! Christ, Gallagher, what the fuck is wrong with you right now? You were in the same fight I was.”

“Only to pull them off of you! Only to stop it! I had your back, but that’s it.”

“Oh, that’s it, eh?”

“Yes, Mickey! I asked you not to cross that stupid fucking street but you did!”

Mickey gave himself a second to sort out his thoughts, wiping his lower lip with his thumb. “So the next time someone insults me - disrespects me - and _you_ \- to my goddamn face - I just let them?”

“It’s not that simple, it’s -”

“It sure as hell is that simple!” Mickey yelled.

Ian just shook his head.

“Then explain it to me,” Mickey demanded.

“You could have got in real trouble, okay? Over what? A few assholes? Mean fucking words? I mean, who _cares_ what they think?”

Mickey clenched his fist, raising his voice. “I --” Then he shut his mouth and shook his head, smoking again just to do something with his hands.

“You what?”

“Fuck off.”

“You _care_? That what you were going to say?”

“Yeah, well, maybe. Don’t need everyone is this shit-hole neighbourhood to think I’m fucking soft now. They were an example.”

“Bullshit they were, you’ll do that to everyone who gives you a hard time. And expect me to help you.”

“You know what? Fuck you. If you don’t wanna help me, fine. I’ve got it. I don’t need to you fucking protect me or some shit, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble! I don’t want --”

“Forget it!” Mickey yelled, waving his hands in front of him. “Just fucking forget it. I try and fucking help you, get my face bashed in on the sidewalk, and you’re mad.” Mickey shook his head again, as if completely unable to believe what was happening. “Sleep at home tonight,” he said quietly as he stormed past Ian.

“Mick!” Ian called after him. “Will you just wait? Listen to me! Damn it, Mickey!”

But Mickey was already half way down the street. Feeling lower than he could remember feeling in weeks, Ian turned and walked the opposite way, thinking vaguely that this was the sort of shit that belonged in his diary.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. But too much had happened and Lip was right - he had let them all down. But Fiona sitting across from him. That was a start.

“They took me back to Brazil,” he began. “Smuggled me in. I think they just wanted to keep an eye on me, make sure I didn’t disappear on them. Or do something crazy, like marry you.”

“Right,” Fiona said, forcing a sarcastic laugh. “That wouldn’t have happened.”

“Why not?” Jimmy asked.

Fiona felt her heart flutter in her chest. “What did I say about sticking to answering my questions?”

“Fine,” Jimmy said, backing off. “So, Nando took me back to Brazil. I worked as a drug mule, mostly smuggling cocaine to and from Columbia. Sometimes Chile.”

“Must have paid well,” Fiona said, motioning found the lofty apartment.

Jimmy laughed bitterly. “They didn’t pay me. They fed me enough to keep me going and bought me new shoes when I needed them, but I was a hostage, not a staff member.”

“And you couldn’t get out? No way to call for help?” Fiona asked. “It’s what I would have done.”

“Fi, they cut off my little toe,” Jimmy said seriously. “The third night I was there, I ran and they chopped it off with a kitchen knife. They said every time I’d try to run, I’d lose another, until they made sure I couldn’t run at all. When I didn’t do what they wanted me to, they shoved a screwdriver through my eardrum - so that I had an excuse for not listening.” Jimmy turned the left side of his head toward her and pointed to his ear. “Come on, doubting Thomas, look if you don’t believe me.”

Fiona quickly sat back. “I believe you,” she muttered. “But how did you get back? I mean, something must have changed. Why did it take so long?” All of her anger seemed to have dissipated - now Fiona just wanted to know what happened.

Jimmy ran his ran over his face, looking haggard. “Estefania.”

“Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy was quiet for a moment, preparing himself to tell the story he still relived in the nightmares he couldn’t stop. “I went to her house one day. Some stupid errand. And... and there she was... she was sprawled out on the floor. Her neck... they slit her throat... there was so much blood. Her eyes were open. Her eyes were...”

Fiona reached out and grabbed Jimmy’s hand. He squeezed it, staring fixated at a spot on the floor - anywhere but at her.

“I didn’t love her,” he went on slowly. “But to see her... I mean...”

“I know,” Fiona said gently, although she didn’t know, not at all.

“I called her father. I didn’t know what else to do. I’d never seen him so... so... I thought he was upset the night he killed Beto. But this was...” Jimmy just shook his head.

“So what happened?” Fiona pressed.

“He blamed me.”

“What?”

Jimmy squeezed her hand again, as if to make sure it was really there. “Yeah. Estefania and I had gotten into an argument the other day. She blamed me for her deportation, for Beto’s death, for a lot of stuff. Nando thought that I killed her. To shut her up, to get back at him, to get away from being her husband. I don’t know.”

“But how could he blame you?” Fiona asked softly. “You were the one who called him.”

“Like I said,” Jimmy laughed bitterly. “He had a temper. It was probably another drug lord, this kingpin - there was a shootout the week before, Nando’s guys killed a few important people. I’m sure Estefania was retaliation. But Nando wouldn’t listen. There was no changing his mind.”

Fiona sat back, letting go of Jimmy’s hand. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She knew that she couldn’t really trust Jimmy - or Steve, or Jack, or whatever his name was today - but something like the way she had felt about him so long ago was creeping back into the pit of her stomach. “So why didn’t he kill you?” she finally asked, trying to sound cold and detached.

“Eve.”

“The lesbian roommate?”

“Yeah. Nando did a lot of work with her. She was going to help him get Estefania and me back into the States. She does work like that - moving people around. Anyways, we got to know each other. She liked me. She knew I didn’t kill anyone.”

“So she saved you?”

“Basically. Got me back home with a fake name, forged papers. She could have done it properly, but that would have taken more time than we had. Nando wanted my head.”

“Wanted?” Fiona repeated hesitantly. “He doesn’t anymore?”

“Eve is... a powerful woman. A connected woman. Nando was a loose cannon. I wasn’t there when she... when it happened. He must have let his temper get the best of him and she shut him down. She never really liked him, anyway.”

“Shit,” Fiona breathed. “So she off-ed him?”

Jimmy nodded. “Now I’m working for her.”

Fiona leaned forward. “She sounds _dangerous_ , Jimmy. You shouldn’t be anywhere near her.”

“She saved my life,” he reasoned. “We’re... I don’t know... friends.”

Fiona shook her head. “That’s insane.”

“I’ll leave, if you want,” he said suddenly. “Leave her. I’ll come back.”

“Back... wait, back with _me_? At home?”

Jimmy nodded.

“You’re shitting me, right?”

Jimmy grinned sheepishly. “It was worth a shot.”

Fiona placed her beer down on the glass coffee table. “Look, Jimmy... I’m glad you’re... safe and everything,” she began slowly. “But we have had a terrible couple of months. I can’t have you - _anyone_ \- bringing anything dangerous around my family.”

“I told you, Nando’s gone - no one’s looking for me.”

“Who’s to say this ‘Eve’ chick won’t?”

“Fiona, you don’t understand -”

She put her hand up to quiet him. “My family needs stability and you’re not exactly that. They’re... I mean... we’re all going through some shit right now. First Liam, now Ian... not to mentioned Lip having to -”

“Wait,” Jimmy interrupted. “Slow down. What happened to Liam?”

Fiona stood up, tugging on her coat. “I left some coke out on my birthday. He got into it. Overdosed. I went to prison.”

“Holy shit,” Jimmy cried, jumping up. “Is he okay?”

“Might be autistic.”

“What? Cocaine can’t give you autism.”

Fiona laughed bitterly as she headed for the door. “It’s unrelated. The kid’s having a rough year.”

“Fuck,” Jimmy muttered under his breath as he followed Fiona to the front of the apartment. “And Ian? You said...”

Fiona swung her bag over her shoulder. “I got my answers, so I’m going.”

“No - please. Just stay. You want another drink? I wanna know about - I mean - are they all right? Are _you_?”

Fiona smiled at him with a sigh. “Goodbye, Jack.”

With that, she left.

Jimmy watched her walk down the hall before he shut the door. At least this was a start.

 

* * *

 

 

All Carl wanted to do was curl up in his bed and forget about everything. He’d been walking through the city all night. He got lost for hours on the North Side, wandering aimlessly through a nauseating maze of white picket fences and plastic lawn ornaments. It was nearly two in the morning and, feeling defeated, lonely, and exhausted, Carl was ready to give up.

When he walked up to the house, someone was sitting on the porch.

“Ian?” Carl called softly as he walked through the gate. “What are you doing?”

“Hey Carl,” Ian muttered, his chin resting in one hand, the other hand clutching a bottle of whiskey. “What ‘er you... what ‘er you doin’ up?”

Carl stood awkwardly in front of the porch, watching Ian slumped on the steps. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Were you - were you - with Frank?” Ian asked slowly, concentrating on getting the words out.

“No. I was looking for someone.”

“Oh right. The girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Ian smiled. “She say that? Sometimes they say that. Warm mouth.”

Carl’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? What are you doing sitting on the porch?”

“I’m drinking. What’s it look like?”

Carl stood there for a minute, his heart and mind racing. Should he go get Fiona? Call Lip? He’d seen this before with Monica - he knew how this ended.

“W-w-wait a sec,” Ian slurred. “What’s tha’ look for?”

“Nothing,” Carl said quickly.

“You think - I’m - I’m having a thing? Episode? You think I’m crazy right now?”

Carl swallowed, hard. “No.”

Ian shook his head. “Relax, brother. I’m not. Rough night. That’s it.”

Carl took a tentative step forward. “What happened?”

“Got in a fight. A real one, with some guys, and then - you know - a word one. With Mickey.”

“Oh.” Carl sat down next to Ian. “Guess we both had a shitty night.”

“Guess so.” Ian took another drink.  He looked over at Carl and seemed to think for a moment. He held out the bottle. “Want some?”

Again, Carl looked confused. “But... but you said...”

“Know what I _said_. Now I’m _saying_ , want some?”

“...no.”

Ian grinned and set the bottle down on the steps. “Good.”

“Was that like a test or something?”

Ian shook his head. “No. You can do whatever you want, you know. People have all these _rules_ and shit. But really, we can all just do whatever the fuck we want. You ever think about that?”

“Not really,” Carl admitted.

“I do,” Ian went on. “But just because we can do shit...” He sighed and seemed to think for a minute, looking down at his hands. “We’re not the only people to, like, think about. We gotta think about people we love. And when we do stupid shit, it messes with them, too. Because of, you know, love.”

Carl scratched his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Should I get Lip? I feel like I should get Lip,” he said, standing up.

Ian pulled him back down. “No, no! This is for you. Shut up and listen.”

Carl could smell the alcohol on his breath. He sat back down and faced his brother. “Fine. Go.”

“It’s like... when you fight.  You get in fights at school. Mickey got in a fight today. Same thing - some douche bags egged him on. Like you. So he fights them. And he thinks - he thinks - that’s okay.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “We already talked about this.”

Ian nodded. “You’re right. Look, I’m sorry. Go inside. It’s late. I didn’t mean t’ freak you out.”

“You didn’t freak me out,” Carl insisted. “You should go inside, too.”

Ian shook his head. “I’m gunna sit here. For a bit. Go to bed, Carl.”

But Carl didn’t move. When Ian looked over at him, Carl just shrugged. “You can’t just start a story and not finish it.”

Ian grinned. “You’re a little shit, you know that? What I meant to say is... people - you, Mickey, Lip, me - everyone. People never think about what getting in trouble really means.  I mean, real trouble. It’s not just you. You think ‘I need to do this, it’s worth the punishment’. But what about the people who love you? They’re part of it, too. Like you getting suspended - that’s, like, all of our problem.”

“No it isn’t, jeez. You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not! You get in trouble, now we all worry, now we all try to help you. It’s our problem, because we love you. Same with this Frank thing.”

Carl shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about Frank.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying. He fucks up, it’s our problem. Same with Mickey. He gets in this fight and then he doesn’t get why I’m mad. But what if he went to jail or something? Then what about me? Mandy? His fucking baby? People don’t think about that.”

Carl just nodded, biting his lip and waiting for Ian’s rant to finish.

Ian sighed. “I know I’m the worst for that. I’m a black kettle right now or whatever. But I’m trying. Really hard.”

“I know, Ian,” Carl said softly. He shifted his legs around awkwardly for a bit before saying, “we can tell, you know.”

“Tell what?”

“That you’re trying. I was all... weirded out at first. Scared. That you were gunna be...”

“Like Mom?”

“Yeah.”          

Ian just nodded, staring out at the dark street.

“But you’re not,” Carl went on hesitantly. “It’s probably, like... hard for you. Shitty. But I just wanted to say... you’re doing great. You’re really great, Ian.”

Ian grinned. “You trying to butter me up, kid? You gunna ask me for money now?”

Carl smiled, too. “I mean, if you got twenty bucks, I won’t say no.”

Ian laughed, shoving him playfully. “Come on, man. Let’s go to bed. We can box tomorrow, how’s that?”

Carl stood up, guiding a still unsteady Ian to the door. “Sure. Good that you’ll be hung over - give me a chance to kick your ass.”

Ian laughed. “You wish.”


	9. Pimpin' Ain't Easy

“You’re late.”

Mandy sighed as she pulled off her coat. “I was at school, okay?”

Kenyatta, lying on her bed with his computer on his lap and a beer in his hand, shook his head. “You’re done class at two.”

“What’d you do? Check my schedule?”

“Yeah,” Kenyatta barked, slamming the computer shut.

Mandy felt her heart start to speed up, but forced herself to stay calm. Everything was fine; she hadn’t done anything wrong. Sometimes Kenyatta just got himself worked up over nothing - Terry used to do that all the time. No big deal.

“I had a project to do,” she said casually. “I had to meet with my group in the library.”

“But you only go to fucking school part time,” Kenyatta insisted. “They give projects to half-ass dropouts?”

“Apparently,” Mandy muttered, ignoring the dig.

Kenyatta got out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt. “So what’s this _project_ in?”

“Science,” she answered defensively. “Gotta build a model of a cell.”

“Sounds like fuckin’ bullshit to me.” Kenyatta took a few long steps toward Mandy and stopped in front of her, leaning down and inhaling. “You smell like a man.”

“Well, there were guys in my group. We sat next to each other.”

Kenyatta shoved her shoulder back. “Oh, I _bet_ you did.”

“Fuck off,” she mumbled, escaping her room and stepping out into the living room. “Nothing happened.”

“How can I be sure?” he asked, following her.

“Just gunna have to believe me.”

Kenyatta laughed. “As if I’m gunna do that. I don’t believe sluts.”

“Just fucking drop it,” she sighed, sitting down on the sofa and putting her head in her hand. “I had a long fucking day and I gotta work in an hour, so - ”

Kenyatta grabbed hold of her arm and pulled Mandy back onto her feet. She tried to pull away, but he was strong, and worse than that, he was angry.

“You think I give a shit that you gotta work? You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck you were doing for the past hour.”

“I told you, I was...”

Kenyatta shook her. “You’re _lying_ , bitch. You both know you ain’t smart enough for a fucking grade twelve science class.”

“It’s b-biology,” she stuttered. “I can show you - ”

“I don’t wanna see shit!” Kenyatta cried, throwing her back down onto the sofa.

Mandy jumped up. “Hey, fuck you!” she yelled. “I haven’t done _shit!_ You don’t get to treat me like - ”

“I treat skanks the way they need to be treated! You gotta _learn_ , Mandy! I’m gunna teach you!” Suddenly, his hand went back and he brought it down hard across Mandy’s face. She fell onto the sofa, her arms covering her head, thinking wildly of the only English class she had ever paid attention in:

_“So class, there are two meanings to the word here. Listen again - ‘if she let herself he lessoned so’. He will teach her a lesson, but she, as a person, will be lessened. Understand?”_

“You can’t lie to me!” Kenyatta was yelling when Mandy brought her head back up. She realized that Mickey wouldn’t be home for hours and Ian hadn’t been around in days. She brought her hand to her lip and tasted blood.

“Kenyatta?” she said weakly.

“What?”

She looked at him with all the hate and rage she had worked so hard to hide around him for months. “ _Fuck you_.”

“What’d you say?”

Before Kenyatta could really react, Mandy hopped over the back of the sofa and ran like mad to Terry’s old room. Kenyatta fumbled to keep up with her, tripping over baby toys and stacks of dirty laundry. “Get back here!” he screamed. Somewhere upstairs, the baby started to wail. “You’re your skinny ass back here!”

When Kenyatta reached Terry’s room, Mandy stood in front of the bed, a rifle aimed at his head.

“Where... where they fuck you get that from?” he panted.

“This is my house,” Mandy said, breathing hard, but keeping her voice even. “I know where everything is. This here? This is my favourite gun.” She lowered her aim from his head to his heart, then grinned and lowered it again, between his legs. “I’ve been waiting for a reason to use it again.”

Someone was moving around upstairs, their footsteps echoing through the house. Mandy and Kenyatta both looked up, then at each other.

“Whose home?” Kenyatta demanded.

“How the fuck should I know? Your lazy ass has been here all day.”

“You’re brother ain’t here.”

Mandy shrugged. “Don’t care who it is. They can wipe your guts up off the floor when we’re done here.”

Kenyatta put his hands up. “Relax. You’re overacting, babe.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You on the rag or something?”

Suddenly, Kenyatta’s eyes went wide. Mandy looked behind him to see Svetlana, grinning as she pressed the cold metal of a hammer into the back of his neck. “She does not need to bleed to hate you,” Svetlana whispered. “I hate you every day.”

“What are you doing here?” Mandy asked, the rifle still pointed at Kenyatta. “Go upstairs.”

Svetlana shrugged. “You were fighting. Then it got quiet. I come to check.”

Mandy clenched her jaw for a minute, thinking. “Fine. Just stay out of my way.”

Svetlana nodded, pressing the hammer into Kenyatta’s skin before stepping back.

“Both you fucking bitches are crazy,” he said, his hands still up.

“Sure as shit are,” Mandy spat. “You got ten minutes to take your stuff and go.”

“Listen to me, Mandy. I know you’re mad. But you know I don’t mean to get angry like that,” he said softly with a nod to her lip. “I just love you. Thinking about you with other dudes, it makes me crazy. Cause I love you so much.”

Mandy raised the gun to his head again. “I don’t want your love anymore.”

He took a step forward. “Come on, babe. Weboth know you ain’t gunna shoot me. I’m your man.”

Svetlana laughed from the doorway. “I think you are right. Mandy doesn’t shoot. I hear she uses car.”

“Shut the fuck up, Svetlana,” Mandy growled. Then she took another step forward and pressed the barrel of the gun to Kenyatta’s chest. He held out his hands toward her, as he if wanted to push her away but was too scared to touch her.  He looked terrified. “I don’t fucking deserve this,” Mandy spat. “No more. You’re gone.”

“But -”

“Gone!”

Kenyatta turned around, looking for any way out of this situation. All he saw was Svetlana leaning in the doorway, waving her hammer back and forth with a smirk on her face.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck! Fine. Fuck you crazy cunts. I’m going - okay? Let me get my stuff.”

Mandy pulled the gun back. “Five minutes.”

“You said ten!”

“That was before you pissed me the fuck off.”

Kenyatta didn’t say anything, just turned around and stormed out of the room.

Svetlana walked over to Mandy, still lazily swinging her hammer around. “Which straw break your back?” she asked.

Mandy didn’t look away from the doorway; she didn’t lower her gun. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, more to herself than Svetlana. “He’s never gunna stop. No matter what I do.”

Svetlana nodded wisely. “I say you kill him. I can hide body - I know how.”

Mandy shook her head. Finally, she turned to look at Svetlana. “What are you doing here? Your kid’s crying. Why are you trying to help me?”

Svetlana shrugged, sitting down on the unmade bed and crossing her legs. “You were only on there when baby was born,” she said seriously, looking Mandy in the eye. “You held my hand. I do not forgot.”

Mandy stared at her for a minute before nodding. Then she marched out into the living room, gun first. “ _You fucking gone yet_?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was freezing out. Svetlana pulled her coat closer around her neck and lit a cigarette as she walked up the back fire escape. Mandy had left for work after Kenyatta stormed out, half-full duffle bag in hand. Mickey was home with Yvegeny, though she wished Ian was with him. As much grief as that boy had caused her, she had to admit he was good with kids. But Ian hadn’t been around for a few days. Svetlana knew better than to ask Mickey about it; after all, he had been known better than to ask about Nika.

She knocked on the metal door and Ivan answered. He looked confused. “What are you doing here?” he asked through his thick, Slavic accent.

“I need to speak with Sasha,” Svetlana said simply, tossing away her cigarette.

“She’s busy.”

Svetlana shouldered past him and made her way into Garden Spring Spa. “Then I wait.”

Ivan followed her as she made her way downstairs to where she knew Sasha’s office was. “You can’t!” Ivan cried. “You don’t understand - she’s with someone very important!”

Svetlana spun around. “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah. You’re the whore that married that teenager. The one that walked all the girls out.”

“Right. Sasha will remember me.”

“What do you want with her?” Ivan asked, stepping in front of Svetlana, trying to keep her from making it any closer to the office. “She won’t have you back. She has new girls now. Younger. Prettier.”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure. But I still need to speak with her. It’s business. I hear she’s trying to shut down other prostitution rings. No?”

Ivan shoved his hands in pockets. “I don’t discuss Sasha’s business with anyone.”

“I forgot,” Svetlana drawled. “You’re so well behaved.” She patted his head before shoving past him. Before Ivan could catch up with her, Svetlana had burst into Sasha’s office.

The office wasn’t really an office. It was more of a lounge, with soft love seats and ottomans decorated with too many pillows and animal-print throws. There was a table covered in half empty glasses, mirrors with razors resting on them, and ashtrays full of smoking cigarette butts. It stank of jasmine incense and smoke. It was exactly as Svetlana remembered.

Sasha and a woman she was talking with both looked up as Svetlana came in. Ivan hurried after her, pushing himself forward and trying to explain in rapid Russian. Sasha held up her hand for quiet. “Hello, Svetlana.”

Svetlana nodded her head. “I do not mean to interrupt,” she said confidently, “but I need to speak with you.”

Sasha regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re English is better.”

“I take lessons.”

“Well,” Sasha said, getting up and pouring herself another drink, “I’m glad to see you’ve landed on your feet. Another, Eve?”

The woman sitting on the loveseat looked up at Sasha. “No thank you. I should be getting back.”

“Oh, don’t let Svetlana bother you. In fact, she’s an interesting story. Svetlana, why don’t you tell Eve how you came to leave my Spa?”

Svetlana folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to talk about the past. I want to talk about the future - our future.”

Sasha laughed as she sat back down with her drink, lighting a cigarette. “You haven’t changed.” She turned to Eve. “Always pushy, this one. Thinks she is a queen. Needs to remember she is a whore.”

Eve regarded Svetlana carefully, ignoring Sasha. “I always liked the pushy ones,” she grinned. “What’s your business here?”

Sasha shook her head. “No, we are in the middle of - ”

Eve leaned back in her seat. “I can wait. Svetlana - your name is Svetlana, right? Come sit.”

Svetlana looked at Sasha, who just shrugged. She sat down on an ottoman across from Sasha, who waved her hand at Ivan. “Off you go,” Sasha sighed. “The adults are talking.”

As soon as Ivan had closed the door, Svetlana began. “I know you’re trying to close every other place down. It’s working. I hear things. But there is a place you don’t know about. Small, new. I work there, with the other girls. Malvina, Natalia, Anna - you remember them?”

Sasha re-crossed her legs and sipped her drink. “I cannot keep track of every girl to come through this place. Were they with you when your tiny husband took you all on strike?”

Eve laughed. “You went on strike?”

Svetlana sighed. “It is a long story.”

“I want to hear it sometime,” Eve said, still grinning.

Svetlana ignored her, turning back to Sasha. “They were with me. We all work together now. But not for much longer. Not all of the girls will need work, but some will. You need to take them back.”

Sasha scoffed. “Do not tell me what I need to do.”

“They are good workers,” Svetlana insisted.

“And why would I do this?” Sash asked, leaning forward and taking a drag of her cigarette. “Why would I take back anyone who walked out on me?”

“They will bring customers,” Svetlana said simply.

“I have those.”

“More. Men who never would have visited the Spa before. If there is one thing Mickey has done right, it is that. When we close, these men won’t know where else to go. They’ll follow the girls here, I am sure.”

“Poor men who can’t pay my prices,” Sasha said. “You do not have a mind for business, Svetlana. Some advice for free - stick to sucking cock.”

“Hear her out,” Eve spoke up. “You say these men won’t know where else to go?”

Svetlana turned to Eve. “For some, these are first whores they ever visit. If they leave, the men will follow. And they will pay.” She turned back to Eve. “They start with what they can afford. Then they want more. They will do what they must to get the money.”

“They sound like addicts,” Eve laughed.

Svetlana shrugged. “They are.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Why would I take back girls who walked out on me? What will stop them for doing it again?”

“Supply and demand,” Svetlana said simply. “Just like with your customers, the more places you close the fewer they will have to work. And they will negotiate their pay.”

“Obviously,” Sasha sighed. “I’m not taking back stretched out quitters at full price.”

“Just think about it,” Svetlana insisted, standing back up. “It will be good for business.”

Sasha ashed her cigarette in a cheap-looking crystal tray. “Goodbye, Svetlana. And don’t bother coming back again.”

Svetlana gave Sasha one last, cold look before she pushed through the door and out into the cold hallway where Ivan stood, arms crossed and scowling. “You are an idiot.”

“And you have no balls,” Svetlana muttered, poking him hard with her index finger.

“You bitch, sometimes I - ”

The door to Sasha’s office swung open and Eve sauntered out. “Excuse me?” she said, an icy smile on her face. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

“She’s no _lady_ ,” Ivan growled.

“Ah. I didn’t realize you were the lady-police. You best get out of here,” she said, leaning forward menacingly. “Because I’m after your job, little man.”

Ivan swallowed hard, then darted upstairs.

“Was he always such a little bitch?” Eve laughed.

Svetlana grinned. “Yes. But I feel sorry for him. He came here, no money, no English, no friends. He was smart, so Sasha hired him. Now look where he is.”

“Empathy,” Eve _tsk_ -ed, shaking her head as her and Svetlana began to leave. “That never gets you anywhere.”

“It is pity. Not empathy.”

Eve smiled. “Look at you, with the fancy vocab. Those English lessons must be working.”

“I hope so,” Svetlana said, smiling too.

“So, you must be pretty desperate to come back and ask Sasha for work.”

“Not for me,” Svetlana explained. “The others. My husband - ”

“Husband?” Eve repeated. “I meant to ask - ”

“It’s not what you think. It’s... very complicated. Anyway, he tries to find other work for these girls. But I do not think it will work. They are illegal immigrants. What work can they find? We try to make them Americans, but it is so complicated."

“You know, Svetlana,” Eve said as they pushed through the doors and out onto the street. “I think it just might be fate that we met. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

 

* * *

 

 

Frank and Sheila stood on the porch of the Gallagher house, Frank with his head hung low and muttering, Sheila nearly bouncing with excitement.

“Honestly, Sheils,” Frank grumbled, kicking at a loose stone, “you don’t need to do this. And I sure as hell don’t need to be here.”

“Oh, come on Frank!” she cried, knocking on the door with her free hand, the other carefully holding a tray of brownies. “I want to say goodbye!”

“But _I’m_ not going anywhere.”

“You know I can’t leave you alone in the house. You’ll get into the liquor cabinet.”

“But I - ”

Carl opened the door. It seemed to take him a second to register exactly what he was seeing. “What are you two doing here?” he finally asked.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” Frank asked sternly, his hands on his hips.

Carl ignored him. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to say goodbye!” Sheila cried, flinging her free arm in the air. She slid past Carl and into the house. “Whose home?” she asked, looking around the cluttered living room. Frank slunk in behind her.

“Um... Debbie and Liam are outside,” Carl said. “Lip and Ian are upstairs. Fiona’s at work.”

“When will she be home?” Sheila asked. “I’d love to see her, too.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Really, Sheila, she doesn’t need to - ”

“ _Lip!_ ” Carl yelled up the stairs. “ _Ian! Hurry!_ ”

There was a crash followed by a pounding flurry of heavy footsteps. “What? What is it?” Lip cried, crashing down the stairs.

“Are you okay?” Ian panted, right behind his brother.

“Please don’t leave me alone with them,” Carl said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

Lip and Ian looked into the living room. “For fuck’s sake, Carl,” he muttered. “I thought something was really wrong.”

Ian pushed past his brothers. “What do you want, Frank?” he demanded, in the same bored, flat tone Carl had used.

“It’s not me - her!” Frank cried defensively, pointing to Sheila.

“Run and get Debbie and Liam!” Sheila sang. “I have an announcement.”

“Oh God,” Lip muttered under his breath. He turned and rolled his eyes at Carl, though Carl didn’t seem in the mood to laugh. “I’ll get them,” Lip told Sheila, patting Carl’s shoulder as he headed for the back door.

Frank and Sheila sat down on the sofa as Carl flopped down on the chair. Ian stood in the corner, his arms folded firmly across his chest as he stared at Frank.

Frank didn’t look away from Ian. He was trying to figure something out. “What Fiona told me... it’s not true, is it?”

“What’s not true?” Ian asked.

“You don’t have that look. The one your mother got.”

Before Ian could answer, Lip returned with Liam in his arms and Debbie right behind him.

“What’s the announcement, Sheila?” Debbie asked politely as Lip set Liam down.

Sheila placed her tray of brownies on the table. “These are to celebrate,” she said, a wide grin still on her face. “I’m taking a trip!”

“That’s great, Sheila,” Lip said - and he meant it. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who could barely open her front door a few years ago.

“Where to?” Debbie asked, sitting on the edge of the table and grabbing a brownie.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Frank cried, waving his hands in the air. “Aren’t you at least gunna acknowledge your father? Jesus,” he said, looking around the room, “it’s like you don’t even care that I’m here!”

“We don’t,” Lip explained.

Liam walked up to the table, pointing at tray of brownies and looking up at Debbie. “Use your words,” she told him kindly.

Frank looked down at Liam. “Your sister said he’s retarded now or something.”

“He’s _not_ retarded,” Carl scowled from across the room.

“Oh, are we speaking again?” Frank asked. “I seem to remember a conversation where you said you were done with me.”

“Leave him alone,” Ian warned.

“Or what?”

“Enough!” Lip cried. “Frank, shut the fuck up or leave.”

Sheila patted Frank’s knee. “Yes, Frank. Please do... shut the fuck up.” She smiled at all the kids in the living room. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you all! Debbie, what a young lady you’re turning into!”

“Uh - thanks,” Debbie said, finally grabbing Liam a brownie.

“And Lip, how’s school?”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Tell us about this trip,” he suggested, more to get this conversation over with than to be polite.

“Well, I had been feeling a little blue for a while. But I had a nice chat with Sammi, of all people. I’m heading off to see my Karen!” She looked around the room expectantly, but most of the Gallagher kids just seemed bored.

“That’s, uh, really great, Sheila,” Debbie finally said. "I’m sure she misses you a lot.”

“I miss her, too. And little Hymie.”

“He’s retarded!” Frank piped up. “See, Liam and him have something in common.”

“Shut up, Frank!” Lip yelled.

“What? You can’t blame that on me. If you want to be mad, be mad at Fiona. This,” he said, pointing to Liam, who sat eating his brownie, “is her fault.”

Lip started flexing his hands, making tight fists and biting his tongue. Debbie noticed. “Stop it, Frank. We’re past that. You’d know that if you’d _been_ here.”

“You guys don’t want me around!” Frank cried.

“Don’t yell at her,” Ian warned, taking a step forward.

“There is it,” Frank said, looking at Ian.

“What?”

“The look your mother got.”

Lip jumped to his feet.

"What are you gunna do?" Frank snarled, getting to his feet and spreading his arms out and if daring Lip to take a swing. 

"Don't, Lip," Ian muttered.

"Yeah," Lip said, nodding to himself and staring at his feet. "I'm not gunna do anything stupid. Hey Debs."

"Yeah?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Can you grab Liam for a sec? Get him off the floor?"

Confused, Debbie did what he asked.

"Great. Thanks." Suddenly, Lip flew at Frank, punching his square in the jaw and sending him flying back onto the couch asSheila jumped out of the way. "Get the fuck out of our house, you asshole!" Lip yelled.

Ian rushed forward and grabbed Lip's shoulders. "Take it easy," he muttered.

Frank brought his hand to his face, gingerly touching his red, bruising jaw. "Real tough guy, eh?"

Sheila stood up. “Oh my. Okay. We - um - need to leave." She turned to the Gallagher kids. "Well, that was a nice chat. Glad I could come and say goodbye. We’ll be going now,” she said, pulling Frank to his feet. “Enjoy the treats!”

“Bye,” Debbie said with a little wave, Liam still in her arms.

Lip held his hands out. "I'm sorry, Sheila," he sighed. "I didn't mean..."

“It's fine, dear,” Sheila said, grabbing her purse and ushering Frank towards the door. “Oh, but before I forget, is there anything you’d like me to tell Karen? I know she’d be so excited to hear from you.”

All of the rage and tension suddenly left Lip’s body; he felt cold and empty of everything except guilt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian watching him. “I - uh - just... I hope she’s doing okay,” he ended up muttering.

“Okay. Bye kids!” Sheila cried as she left, determined not to let anything - even a bloodied Frank - dampen her spirits. “Bye-bye!”

Lip shut the door behind them and turned to his siblings. “Glad that’s over. Sorry I got... sorry."

Carl sat up straighter in his seat. “If Sheila’s gone, whose gunna take care of Frank?”

“Who cares?” muttered Ian, finally relaxing and flopping down on the couch.

“I dunno... it’s just...”

“Sammi’s still around,” Lip reminded him, trying his best to sound reassuring. “He’s fine, Carl. Trust me. Frank’s always fine.” Looking around at his siblings and thinking about the past few weeks, it struck Lip how incredibly unfair that was. He sighed. “Come on, who wants a one of these brownies?”

 

* * *

 

 

His phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mickey. It’s Iggy.”

“Oh. Hey.”

“Busy?”

“Not really.”

“Dude, you sound like shit.”

“Rough couple of days.”

“You good?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay. Look - I got a question for you. I got this job up here in Detroit. Colin came up to help but the dude is fucking useless.”

“Ha.”

“Seriously. Anyways, I told my boys up here that I got this other brother. Smart as hell. He’ll get shit done.”

“You mean Tony?”

“No, shitface. You know who I fucking mean. So... what do you think about comin’ up? Just for like a month. Make some real cheddar up here.”

“Shit Iggy, I don’t know.”

“Come on, Mick.”

“I got some stupid shit to deal with here right now. Svetlana and the girls at the rub n’ tug... it’s complicated right now.”

“Pimpin’ ain’t easy.”

“Ha. Exactly.”

“I get it. But listen, if it cools down over there, give me a call. Been a while since we all ran together.”

“I know, man.”

“And - hey - if you ever, you know... money. If you need it. I got you.”

“What, you rakin’ in so much that you’re just givin’ it away?”

“Shit yeah, boy!”

“We’ll be fine here. You probably wanna... buy yourself a new ride and fill dad’s commissary or something.”

“I’m... uh... I’m not gunna fill... I mean, if _you_ need it, that’s cool.”

“Oh. Thanks. But we’re good here. I’ll let you know if things get tight here. Hey, you talk to Mandy?”

“Few days ago.”

“Cool. She’s been bustin’ her ass around here. School and work and helping out with the kid.”

“Still can’t believe you’re a baby-daddy.”

“Shut up.”

“Ha.”

“Anyways, she’s been keeping it legit.”

“I know where this is going. I won’t ask her, okay? I won’t fuck up her shit - but I sure as hell ain’t gunna take her lead. I’m finally livin’ large, bro.”

“Good for you.”

“Look, I gotta go - think about what I said. We want you up here.”

“...really?”

“Yeah, man.”

“We’ll see. Bye, Iggy.”

“Bye.”

 

* * *

 

 

After Frank and Sheila had gone, the brownies had been eaten, and Carl and Debbie had started hitting each other,  Lip and Ian headed back upstairs. They had been trying to fix a leak in the bath tub, but ended up sitting together in the dry tub, smoking and trying to come up with ways to make a few extra bucks.

“Saw Mickey the other day,” Lip said suddenly, tipping his head up to exhale. “At the Alibi.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Something happened with you two, didn’t it?”

Ian shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. Stupid fight.”

“You two were attached at the damn hip and now you’re not talking. Sounds like more than that.”

Ian forced a laugh. “Sorry if I don’t come running to you for relationship advice, man. You’re last one didn’t end to well. Or the one before that.  Or the one before - ”

“All right, smartass,” Lip laughed, kicking Ian as best he could in the cramped tub. “Just trying to help.”

“I know.”

“You can - you know - talk to me. If you want.”

“I know.”

“But it is kinda nice having you home,” Lip admitted.

“Yeah. Hey, my foot is completely asleep. Can we just try to fix this thing later?”

Lip laughed and stood up, pulling Ian to his feet. “Fuck fixing it. I’m getting the duct tape.”

 

* * *

 

 

Svetlana took Eve to the Alibi.

“So this is where you work?” Eve asked, taking the place in. It was still early in the afternoon, but the few people sitting around and drinking looked - and smelled - as if they had been there for a while. In her neat black top and Prada jeans, Eve stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Yes,” Svetlana answered, sitting down at the bar.  “Upstairs.”

Kev came out from the back room, a bottle of gin in each hand, as Eve took a seat beside Svetlana. “Thought I heard you, Svetlana,” he said with a grin. “What can I get you ladies?”

Eve eyed the bottles behind the bar. “Let’s get a glass of that whiskey,” she finally decided.

Kev laughed. “Oh, I like her.” He poured all three of them a drink, adding a bit of water to Svetlana’s; he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she’d been around so long he knew how she took her drinks.

“Is Mickey here?” Svetlana asked.

“Think so, somewhere,” Kev said, looking around.

“What about Lip?”

“No, he hasn’t been here all day. Why, what’s up?”

“Find Mickey,” Svetlana told him, taking a drink. “We have to talk business.”

“All right,” Kev said skeptically as he came out from behind the bar and went upstairs.

“That is my pimp,” Svetlana explained to Eve.

“I thought your husband was your pimp?”

“He is my other pimp.”

“Christ,” Eve laughed, finished her drink too, “you weren’t kidding when you said it was complicated.”

“You have no idea.”

After a minute, Kev came back down with Mickey behind him. “So you gunno go?” Kev was asking. “To Detroit?”

“Nah, man,” Mickey said, shaking his head and sitting down at the bar.

“I’m sure Ian would go with you,” Kev replied. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Svetlana just managed to catch Mickey’s eye as he took a beer from Kev and muttered, “ ‘s not that.” He turned to face Eve. “Who are you?”

“I’m the woman whose about to make you one happy son of a bitch.”

Mickey studied her for a minute. “You’re cute, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Me either.”

Kev ran a hand through his hair. “Is everyone in this bar gay? I swear to God, everyone I serve is gay.”

“Shut up, Kev,” Mickey snapped. He turned back to Eve. “So what do you got for me?”

Eve re-crossed her legs and flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “I hear you’re trying to make honest, American women out of the girls you have working for you.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I think I can help.”

“No shit!” Kev laughed. “Seriously? Cause we really need help.”

“Wait, wait,” Mickey said, holding up a hand. He looked at Svetlana. “Who is this chick? Who did you tell about all this?”

“Relax,” Svetlana sighed. “She does work this many people like us. I meet her while she was with Sasha.”

“You went to _Sasha?_ ” Mickey cried.

“We gotta stay away from that crazy bitch!” Kev said seriously, leaning over the bar. “Did you hear what happened to that Thai place?” he whispered. “She burned that place to the ground!”

“Actually,” Eve said lightly, “that was me.”

Kev leaned back. “Fuck.”

“Who _are_ you?” Mickey demanded.

“Calm down. I’m here to negotiate. I have a... unique line of work. You could call me a people-mover. I bring people from one place to another.”

Kev narrowed his eyes. “What - like slavery or some shit? We don’t want that.”

“No, no. Much different. When the rich and powerful, or rich and stupid, need to disappear, they call me. They get new identities in new countries. I have a very high success rate,” she added.

“Great. Should I follow that up with your references?” Mickey asked sarcastically. “You got a resume you want me to look over?”

“Listen to her,” Svetlana ordered. “She is our best hope. This can work.”

“No, it can’t,” Mickey countered. “You heard her - she works for the _rich_. These chicks don’t exactly have a ton of disposable income.”

“Hear me out,” Eve said. “When other people in... similar lines of work get sloppy, some of the  channels I use close up. For now, I’m based in the United States. There aren’t many of these channels here to begin with. I’ve been looking for the names of people who move people in and out of this country - Chicago, specifically.”

“Why here?” Kev asked, wiping down the counter but eyeing Eve suspiciously.

Eve shrugged. “Favour for a friend. Anyways, Sunan - the rat who ran the Thai prostitution ring - was lazy. Four men working for him and seven of the women they were transporting were caught and tried for human trafficking. I can’t have that, not here, not now. So I took care of it. But Sasha, she’s much smarter. I wanted to trade with her. Getting people out of Russia is difficult and I have very few connections there.  I want to know who she’s working with.”

“What, so you can work with them too?” Mickey asked.

“Exactly. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fine. But we got nothing to do with Sasha anymore.”

“You’re women were brought here. They know things, maybe more than even Sasha. Names, dates, companies... if your girls are willing to tell me everything they remember about how they came into America and if their information is helpful, I can make them fully-fledged American citizens.”

Kev exhaled sharply. “Shit. Sounds good.”

“Yeah,” Mickey barked, “too good to be true.” He looked over at Svetlana again. “I thought you said you wanted this done right.”

“That could take years,” she reasoned. “We need this to be done before we get shut down by the men with clipboards. And Eve, she is good.”

“How do you know?”

“Sasha wouldn’t work with someone bad.”

Eve just raised her eyebrows in agreement. “Really, it’s not up to you,” she added, holding her drink up to the light before taking a sip. “I’m going upstairs to ask the women.” She set her drink down and slid off her stool. “This,” she said, waving her hand around the bar, “was just a courtesy.” With that, she headed upstairs.

Svetlana grinned and Mickey and Kev, then followed Eve.

Mickey ran his hands over his face. “Well,” he finally said, “either all our problems are solved or we’re going to prison for life.”

Kev poured them both a drink. “In for a penny...” he muttered, passing Mickey his glass. “Cause... you know... it’s all we have.”


	10. So Fucking Much

“So he’s really gone then?” Mickey asked with a grin as he flopped down onto the sofa.

Mandy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” She made her way to the kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge, more to avoid Mickey’s questions than anything else.

“Good,” Mickey huffed as Svetlana swpt down the stairs, a sleeping Yevgeny nestled in her arms. “Hey,” Mickey called to her, “you really threaten that giant asshole with a hammer?”

Svetlana strode into the living room and confidently placed Yevgeny in Mickey’s arms before sitting down and lighting a cigarette. “Not the first man I threaten with that hammer in this house,” she answered with a shrug. “Probably not the last.”

Mickey just laughed as he tried to figure out how normal people held babies; Svetlana and Ian made it look so easy. Mickey felt like he may as well be holding a bomb about to go off. “Yeah, well...” he said, trying to shift his arm as Svetlana watched, a smirk on her face, “thanks.”

Svetlana shrugged. “She did not need my help.”

Mandy stomped back into the living room, a piece of bread covered in peanut butter in her hand. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not fucking here.”

Mickey shook his head, ignoring her. “I wanted to beat the living shit out of the motherfucker so many times...”

“But I told you not to,” Mandy barked. “It’s _my_ fucking life.”

“And you’re _my_ fucking sister.”

“Such a charming family,” Svetlana said, tipping up her chin and exhaling.

“ _Charming_ ,” Mickey repeated. “Lip teach you that fancy new word?”

“No. Eve.”

“Who’s Eve?” Mandy asked, finishing her food and grabbing a smoke from an open box on the table.

_If Ian were here,_ Mickey thought, _he’d tell them not to smoke around the baby._

But Ian wasn’t there.

“Eve is a new friend,” Svetlana said lazily.

Mandy raised her eyebrow suggestively. “Ooh, a _friend_ friend?”

“A business partner,” Svetlana explained. She paused before adding, “for now.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about that fucking woman right now. She’s got all the girls riled up - says she can make them Americans.”

“Seriously? That’s great,” Mandy said.

“No, it’s not,” Mickey snapped. “I don’t trust her. What, the answer to our problems suddenly falls into our laps? When does that ever happen?”

“It did not _fall_ ,” Svetlana corrected him. “I went to Sasha. I _found_ solution.”

A phone rang and Mandy stood up, patting Mickey on the shoulder as she went to go get it. “Take what you can get,” she suggested.

Svetlana just stared at Mickey, knowing that her plan was starting to look like the best - and only - option they really had.

“Will you cut that out?” he ordered. “And take this fucking baby, he won’t stop moving.”

Svetlana smiled as she snubbed out her cigarette, rising to take Yevengy back. “He’s hungry,” she told him. “He eats now. Don’t you know?”

Mickey shook his head. “Mandy usually does it when you’re not here. Or Ian.”

Svetlana opened her mouth to say something when Mandy rushed back into the room. She held one hand out in front of her, the other pressing her phone to her ear. “Are you _sure_?” she asked desperately. “How can you be fucking sure?”

Mickey stood up. “What is it?” he asked. He’d seen Mandy deal with shit before, but never had he seen this look on her face.

She was pale, her eyes wide and panicked. The muffled voice on the other line said something, and suddenly all the panic left her. She covered her face with her free hand and doubled over. “No,” she said softly. “No, don’t say that.”

Mickey and Svetlana exchanged glances before Mickey rushed over to her. He grabbed her by the elbow, trying to keep her steady. “ _What?_ ” he demanded. “Who’s on the fucking phone?”

Mandy inhaled, her breath shallow and shaky, as she hung up the phone and stood up straight. She looked at Mickey. “It’s Iggy,” she said. “They found him. He’s dead.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Sheila stepped off the plane, she felt as if she’s just slain a dragon. She’d faced her worst fears and conquered them. She felt more alive than she could remember feeling in years. It was an intoxicating kind of freedom that made anything seem possible.

When Sheila stepped onto the porch, making she the address on the door matched the one in her notebook, she felt terrified. She didn’t deserve what was in that house - how could she ask for it? How could she go on if that door stayed shut?

When the door opened, Sheila felt nothing but absolute joy. Later, when someone would ask her, she wasn’t able to describe it. It wasn’t happiness - it was so much more than happiness. It wasn’t relief, either. The closest she could ever get to naming it was love - a love that welled up inside her and spread throughout her whole body, warming her in a way that made her feel like she had been cold her entire life before that moment.

When the door opened, Sheila wept and laughed and sang out, throwing her arms open wide.

When the door opened, Karen smiled. “Hi Mom. I missed you.”

 

* * *

 

Mandy called Ian.

He was boxing with Carl in the living room when his phone rang.

“I’m coming,” he said softly into the phone, pulling off his red gloves and grabbing his boots. “Do you hear me? I’m coming. Give me ten minutes, okay? It’s gunna be okay, Mandy. I’m coming.”

Carl followed Ian to the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his gloved hands hanging at his sides.

“You need to watch Liam. I’ve gotta go. Mandy’s brother died.”

“ _Mickey?_ ” Carl cried.

“No,” Ian said, shaking his head. “Jesus, _no_. Her other brother - Iggy. Mickey is... he’s fine.”

Carl just nodded, undoing his gloves. “I’ll tell Fiona you won’t be home tonight.”

“Thanks,” Ian muttered, practically leaping off the porch. On the sidewalk , Ian paused and thought for a second, then turned around and walked back up to the house. He ruffled Carl’s hair and looked him in the eye. “I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too...?” Carl replied uncertainly. For a moment he had a flashback of Monica, her eyes too wide, her smile too big, telling Carl that she loved him _so much_. It scared him. But Ian didn’t look like that - Ian wasn’t Monica. “I love you,” he repeated, more confidently.

Ian nodded, then raced off down the sidewalk.

Carl slowly shut the door and walked back into the living room. Liam sat on the floor, colouring. When he saw Carl, he stood up and walked over to him, his little hands in fists. “Punch!” he yelled, jumping up and down. “Carl! Punch!”

“You wanna box too, big guy?” Carl laughed. “Put ‘em up.”

As Liam swatted at Carl’s hands, Carl tried very hard not to think about brothers and dying and ‘I love yous’.

 

* * *

Ian’s heart was hammering out of his chest by the time he reached the Milkovich house. Svetlana opened the door. “They’re in his room,” she said simply, stepping aside to let him in.

Ian raced past her, ran through the living room, and pushed through the door that still warned _stay the fuck out_.

Mickey and Mandy sat on the bed, their heads close together, whispering in low voices. They looked up when Ian walked in.

“I called him,” Mandy explained.

Mickey just nodded. His face was completely expressionless. “I gotta call Tony. And Colin,” he said. He stood up and walked past Ian as if he weren’t there.

Ian knew better than to take it personally. He knew Mickey well enough to know what this was - something big, something that he’d have to feel, something he wasn’t ready for and would try to drink away. He needed time.

Mandy looked up at Ian, mascara smudged around tears that had been hastily rubbed away. “Thanks for coming,” she mumbled.

“Of course,” Ian said softly, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. “I know... I know this is... fuck it,” he said, shaking his head. “I _don’t_ know what this is. But if there’s anything I can do...”

Mandy nodded. “I know. Just sit with me for a bit.”

Ian wrapped his arm around her and felt her head fall on his shoulder. He couldn’t tell if she was crying; he knew better than to look.

“It was a car accident,” she said after a while. “Him and a bunch of his idiot fucking friends were out celebrating. They got drunk and went for a drive... him and two other guys died.”

Ian hugged her closer. “I’m sorry.”

“Mickey said...” She stopped, trying to keep her voice steady. “Mickey said he was really happy. They talked on the phone the other day. It’s just... hard to believe. One day he’s talking about how good life is and the next he’s dead.”

Ian didn’t know what to say. He remembered how he felt a few years ago, as he watched Monica on the kitchen floor, her chest heaving and covered in her own blood. He had felt so helpless, as if that moment would last forever and he’d never see anything but slit wrists on tile floor again.

Then he remembered Fiona’s arms around him. He remembered feeling her hair on the back of his neck and her hands on his shoulder. It hadn’t really been comforting - he had been beyond comforting. But it reminded him that there was something else out there, something besides sickening pain and overwhelming fear. There was goodness and love and life still out there and one day he would get back to it.

He wrapped both his arms around Mandy and kissed the top of her head. She would get back to it, too.

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey made phone calls. He made plans. He talked to people in Detroit, he talked to people in Chicago, he organized things. There would have to be a funeral.

_Will you be the one making the arrangements?_

_Yeah. It’ll be me._

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew someone would have to tell Terry. He’d deal with that later.

Mandy was still his room, so he decided to do everything from the old master bedroom, where Svetlana and the baby sleep. Svetlana knocked softly on the door. “Do you want me to work tonight?” she asked. “I can stay here. Help.”

Mickey shook his head. “No. Go in, we don’t have many more nights to run the place. Talk to the girls about that chick - Eve. If they trust her, tell them to go for it.”

“You want her help?”

“I don’t care.”

Svetlana just nodded. “I will tell Kev.”

“Fine. Can you take the baby with you?”

“Sure.”

Mickey waved his hand in a kind of thanks as she left. Bundling Yevgeny up, Svetlana realized that, although they hadn’t said much, it was probably one of the kindest conversations they’d ever had. It was odd, really, to see Mickey like that. It made her sad in a way she never expected.

When she had gone, Mickey sat alone on the bed and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Another knock on the door.

He looks up, expecting to see Svetlana.

Ian stood there.

_Ian_.

God, he had missed him.

“Hey,” Ian said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Mandy’s asleep.”

“Okay.”

Ian took a tentative step into the room. “Are you all right?”

Mickey bit his lip, staring at the floor. “Yeah.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Mickey looked up at him. “I’m just... I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” he admitted.

It was instinct, really. Mickey stood up and Ian rushed toward him. Ian hugged him, hard, one hand pressing the back of his head, the other firmly around his waist. Mickey didn’t say anything; he buried his face in Ian’s neck and held onto him as if he’s the last solid thing in a melting world.

They stood like that until Mickey’s breath evened out.

 

* * *

 

Debbie put two pieces of bread into the toaster.

“Can’t believe what happened to that Milkovich brother,” Fiona sighed as she rushed around the kitchen. “Which one was it again? I always mix them up.”

“One of the younger ones, I think,” Debbie said.

“Hope Ian’s okay,” Fiona muttered.

“Have you called him?”

Fiona nodded. “Talked to him last night. Said he’d be staying there again for a while.”

“Guess he and Mickey made up,” Debbie pointed out, grabbing her toast. “What were they fighting about again?”

Fiona shrugged, spilling cereal out into a bowl for Liam. “Doesn’t matter. Shit like this, it puts things into perspective.”

“Are you working today?” Debbie asked, grabbing the jam from the fridge.

“Not till this afternoon. Gotta get groceries this morning.”

“I can help.”

Fiona shook her head. “You have a math test tomorrow. You’re studying.”

“Ugh, I hate it when you act like a mom.”

Fiona sat down and pulled out the seat beside her for Debbie. “How come you don’t harp on Carl about his marks?” Debbie complained.

“I _do_ ,” Fiona said. “But I’m more worried about him gettin’ expelled than flunking a test.”

“Who cares about a stupid test anyway? _Perspective_ , right?”

Fiona had to smile. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that? That’s why I harp on you. You could do what Lip did, you know. Graduate high school, get into a good college.”

Debbie shrugged.

“I’m serious, Debs. You’re smart.”

“Thanks,” Debbie muttered, stuffing her mouth full of toast.

Fiona stood up and gave her shoulder a pat. “I know, I’ll shut up. I’ll be home soon. Carl said he’s at the gym, but God knows if that’s true. Text me if you hear anything from Ian.”

Debbie nodded, her mouth too full to talk, and waved at Fiona as she left. When she finally swallowed, she turned to Liam who sat eating off-brand Cheerios. “Boys don’t like _smart_ girls, Liam. It’s not fair. Promise me when you grow up you’ll only date geniuses.”

Liam giggled.

There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Debbie said. “But it’s your turn next time,” she warned.

When she opened the door, she didn’t see anyone. “Hello?” she said, looking around.

Bonnie stood on the sidewalk in front of the house.

“Oh my God,” Debbie breathed, taking a step forward. “You came back!”

“No,” Bonnie said, shaking her head. She wrapped her grey sweated more tightly around herself. Her hair was unbrushed and she seemed exhausted but determined.

“Carl’s not here,” Debbie said quickly. “But you can wait for him. I’ll text him. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

Bonnie shook her head again, taking a step back. “I know he’s not here. I waited for him to leave.”

“What?”

“Tell him to stop looking for me.”

“Carl?”

“Yeah.”

Debbie took another step forward. “Bonnie, what’s going on? Where did you disappear to? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bonnie insisted, though it didn’t sound very reassuring. “Just please... tell him to leave me alone. It’ll get worse if he doesn’t.”

“What will get worse?”

“Everything. Please, Debbie?”

Debbie bit her lip. “He... he really likes you. He cares about you.”

Bonnie stared down at her feet. “I know.”

“You’re gunna break his heart.”

Bonnie ran her hands through her hair. “Will you help me or not?”

“What am I supposed to say to him?”

“You’ll think of something.”

Debbie crossed her arms and stood staring at Bonnie for a moment. “Just tell me... are you ever going to come back? For real? Are you ever gunna talk to him again?”

Bonnie nodded. “My brother’s sick. My mom... she needs me to take care of him for a while. We’re staying with my uncle. He’s not... he doesn’t like... people very much. When my brother is better, I can come back to school. I’ll talk to Carl then, I promise.”

Debbie played with her necklace as she thought. “Fine,” she said eventually. “But I can’t make him stop.”

Bonnie shrugged. “Just try.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Debbie called.

Bonnie turned back around. “I need to go now.”

“I know... just... if you need help. Even if you don’t want Carl. I can... you know... try.”

“Thanks,” Bonnie said softly, before taking off down the street.

Debbie shook her head as she went back inside. “First Jimmy now Bonnie?” she said as she sat down next to Liam. “You got some long-lost love we should know about?”

He threw a Cheerio at her.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re supposed to wear black to a funeral.”

Svetlana shrugged at Ian. “I have no black.”

Ian looked her up and down. She wore tight navy pants, a white tank top, and a grey faux-fur jacket. “You look ridiculous.”

“Is dark,” she shrugged, looking down at herself. “Right?”

Mandy walked into the living room. She wore a black mini-dress with a red jacket and black nylons. The nylons would have been okay if they didn’t have mini skull-and-crossbones all over them.

“Jesus, you look even worse than Svetlana!”

Mandy smacked him. “Judging my outfit? Typical gay.”

“That’s offensive.”

“So is bitching about my clothes.”

Svetlana took Yevgeny out of his cradle. At least he was dressed in black. It was a dress, but still. “Where is Mickey?” she asked. “We are going to be late.”

“He’s coming,” Mandy assured them. “He was on the phone with Tony. They wouldn’t give Dad furlough - guess he tried to beat some dude up in the yard the other day.”

Ian shrugged. “Can’t say I’m disappointed.”

“A man should be there to bury his son,” Svetlana said curtly.

“He made his bed,” Ian muttered.

Just then, Mickey walked into the room. He wore a black button-up shirt and dark jeans. “At least you look presentable,” Ian said. “But do you have to wear jeans?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re in your goddamn army get-up and you wanna talk about what _I’m_ wearing?”

“It’s not my ‘army get-up’. Well... not all of it,” Ian admitted, looking down at himself. “It’s the nicest thing I have.”

Mickey surveyed the little group that had formed. They all looked absolutely ridiculous, more like a traveling circus then a bunch of people about to go to a funeral. And _this_ was the crew he was going to roll up with to face his family for the first time since he came out.

“Ready?” Mandy asked, taking a step forward.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah.”

They might be ridiculous. But they were family.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, man!” Kev greeted from behind the bar as Lip stode into the Alibi.

“Hey. You still got those tools?”

Kev nodded. “Upstairs.”

“Great,” Lip said.

“Hey, most of the girls are gunna work with Eve. A few of them decided not to. They got other shit set up, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s great. They upstairs?”

Kev nodded again. “Just Anna and Malvina, I think. Practicing English.”

“I’ll practice with them while I work,” Lip offered, heading toward the stairs.

“You not going to that Milkovich funeral?” Kev asked.

Lip shook his head. “Nah, didn’t know the guy real well. Besides... I haven’t talk to Mandy in a while... I don’t want to... you know.”

“You’re right,” Kev agreed, wiping down the bar. “Let her focus on family.”

“Exactly.”

“Come down for a beer when you’re done.”

“Sure,” Lip said with nod.

“And hey,” Kev called. “She’s gunna love what you’re doing up there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey knew what the service would be like. When he had asked Mandy what she remembered about Mom’s funeral, she said nothing. She said she couldn’t remember anything except for the coffin at the front of the church and Dad and Uncle Ronnie and a bunch of other men carrying her away. Nothing else really mattered, she said. But Mickey remembered. He remembered because none of it seemed right; it was all sort of empty, just for show. Mom wouldn’t have liked any of it.

He felt the same as they made their way from the cemetery to some local dive bar. There hadn’t been a wake. The Milkoviches would wait until after the body was buried, then drink enough to forget any of this had ever happened.

No one had really said anything to Mickey. A few ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘how awful’s. But for the most part, people kept their distance. Even his brothers didn’t say much.

Mandy led the way into the bar. Mickey wished they would have gone to The Alibi. It would have been nice to see Kev behind the bar, Tommy drinking cheap beer, Veronica complaining about how disgusting the bathrooms were. Anything familiar.

“Look Mick, no offense, but your last party cost me more in damages that it was worth,” Kev had told him. But Mickey tried not to think about the last party.

“Come on,” Ian said softly, “one drink and we can leave.”

Mickey nodded, grabbed Ian’s hand, and walked in.

          *******

Time dragged on. Mickey felt exhausted.

Mandy sat beside him at the bar. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Fine,” he spat. “You my fucking babysitter now?”

Mandy rolled her eyes and ordered a drink. “Our brother is dead and half our family won’t look at you.”

“No one’s throwin’ punches, so I’m callin’ in a win.”

Mandy grabbed his hand in both of her’s. Mickey didn’t pull away.

*******

 

Ian stepped out for a smoke. People there would leave Mickey be, for the most part. But not him. He wasn’t a Milkovich; he didn’t get a pass.

Most people avoided him, but some muttered under their breath, bumped into him at the bar, glared at him from across the room. They blamed him for Terry going to back jail - among other things. It was only a matter of time before someone got drunk enough to do something about him.

So Ian pushed open the fire exit and escaped outside, fishing in his pocket for his lighter.

“Here,” someone muttered.

Ian looked down to see Colin Milkovich sitting on the curb, holding out a lighter.

“Uh - thanks,” Ian said awkwardly. He quickly lit his cigarette and gave the lighter back.

Colin turned to Ian, holding out a joint. “Wanna hit?”

Ian looked at him, confused. “A few weeks ago you looked like you wanted to murder me and now you wanna get high together?”

Colin shrugged and exhaled with a little cough. “Today’s been so fucking weird, man. May as well just... what the fuck ever, you know?”

Ian considered this for a minute, then shrugged and sat down beside him. “What the fuck ever,” he agreed. He took the joint from Colin and inhaled, then passed it back. “I’m - uh - sorry for...”

Colin waved his hand to shut Ian up. “I know. Everyone’s so goddamn sorry.”

“Right,” Ian said awkwardly. “Well...”

“But no one could have _done_ anything,” Colin went on. “So what’er they sorry for?”

Ian picked at his sleeve nervously. “Just something people say, I guess.”

“Well, it’s fucking dumb. Me, though? I could have done something.” Colin shook his head and took another hit. “I was up there with him, you know.”

“I know.”

“Came back here. To this fucking shit hole.”

Ian lowered his head, trying to think of anything to say that might make Colin feel better - or at least shut up.

“I should have been there,” Colin muttered, running his hand over his face.

They sat there for a minute, the quiet and cold weighing down on both of them. Then Ian turned to Colin. “I left, too. My family. I just took off one day. And then my little brother almost died and my sister went to jail. I wasn’t there; I didn’t help them.”

Colin just stared at his feet. “Why? Why’d you go?” he asked after a while.

“Long story,” Ian sighed. “It’s just... I get it, sort of. The guilt. But...”

“Look,” Colin said sharply, finally looking over at Ian. “Don’t try and make me feel better. You can’t.”

Ian just nodded.

Colin handed the joint back to him.

Ian smoked and stared up at the sky. It was dark and starry and he couldn’t help but remember the night he and Lip fought, and how Lip and cried and told him how scared he was. Lip had looked up at the sky, too, and said he felt like the world was so big.

Ian didn’t feel like that at all. He felt like nothing in the world existed except these people in this bar at this moment.           

 It was selfish, Ian knew, but he wanted more than anything to be with his family.

“So, you really give it to Mickey up the ass?”

Ian coughed so hard he nearly choked.

“I’m just askin’,” Colin shrugged.

“Fuck. I’m not talking about that with you.”

“Fine,” Colin said, snatching his joint back. “Just tryin’ to get my head around it. Figured... figured I should. You know. Get over it.”

Ian ran his hand over his mouth, trying his best not to laugh. “You’re right. This night is fucking weird.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Svetlana made a liquor run when they got home. It was meant to be a kind gesture, in her own way. So they drank. Mandy drank vodka and got sullen and quiet, before passing out on the sofa. Svetlana and Mickey drank whiskey until Svetlana decided it was time to put Yevgeny to bed. Mickey drank until his words slurred and his eyes wouldn’t stay focused and rambled on to Ian about everything except what had happened that day.

Ian drank orange juice and kissed the top of Mickey’s head until he decided it was time to put him to get him to sleep before he drank himself to death. He covered Mandy with a thin sheet before dragging his boyfriend into his bedroom.

“Lemmie bring th’bottle,” Mickey grumbled as he swayed dangerously on his feet.

“Mick, you need to go to bed.”

“Helps me sleep,” he insisted, grabbing the bottle by the neck and taking a swig.

Seeing as the bottle was almost one anyway, Ian figured it wouldn’t hurt.

           

* * *

 

 

“I would like some cup of water.”

“Good, really good,” Lip said as he stepped off the ladder. “But it’s _a_ cup of water. Singular.”

Anna nodded and made a note for herself in her book. “You work much today,” she commented as Lip set down his tools. “This place - it is nice.”

“Still not great,” Lip sighed, looking around the apartment and surveying his work. “But I’ll get there.”

Malvina sat hunched over her own notebook, focused on her work.

“Hey,” Lip called to her, “you haven’t said a word in like two hours. What are you doing?”

“I make draw,” she said simply. “Soon I am finished.”

“You _do_ draw,” Anna corrected her.

Lip shook his head with a grin. “You’re both wrong. We’ll work on it tomorrow.” He walked over to Malvina. “Can I see?”

Malvina bit her lip shyly. “It is... not so good,” she mumbled as she ripped the page out of her book.

Lip took it from her and stood with it under the light. It was a picture of him. She had drawn his head and shoulders as he looked off to the left. He could see the faint lines she had used to map out her picture before she began, and it was still a bit messy and sketchy, but Lip thought that made it look amazing.

“This is... _really_ good.”

Malvina shrugged modestly. “Is for you. Gift for the English classes.”

“Seriously? Thank you.”

Anna walked up and looked at the picture over Lip’s shoulder. “She is good,” Anna agreed. “She become artist, yes?”

Lip nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Once you’re an American, you could go to art school or something.”

Malvina shook her head. “No, is silly. I need real job. I need money - to eat and be warm.”

Lip sighed. “I know the feeling. But hey,” he said, sitting down beside Malvina and staring at her picture. “Don’t give up on this. Okay?”

Malvina nodded. “Okay.”

“I learn something too,” Anna said, grinning. “I sing America song _\- oh say I can see!_ ”

Lip and Malvina both laughed. “You should maybe reconsider your options,” Lip smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Ian’s head was on Mickey’s chest. He stroked his soft red hair with one hand, the other still clutching his near-empty bottle.

“You awake?” he whispered.

“Mmm,” Ian moaned, burying his face into Mickey’s shirt.

“It’s fine. Sleep,” Mickey whispered, winding his fingers through the thickest part of Ian’s hair, tangling himself up. “You sleep. I was just thinking.” He paused and waited to see if Ian would respond. But Ian’s breaths were deep and even and the only movement he made was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

_Good_ , Mickey thought.

“I was thinking,” he went on softly, “what I would do if I lost you. Been thinkin’ a lot about that today, you know?” He took another swig of whiskey. “And when you were gone - you know - before. I... fuck, I hated it. But now... I don’t... just...” Mickey paused and inhaled. “Don’t die,” he said simply. “Don’t ever do that.”

The heat of Ian’s body on his warmed him in a way the booze couldn’t and Mickey tried to memorize the feeling.

“I think about that,” Mickey went on. “Cause you’re sick. I think - what if he goes away? You can’t do that. Just - don’t.”

He looked down at Ian, running his thumb over Ian’s ear and neck.

“I love you so fucking much.”

Ian tilted his head just a bit - just enough - and moved his hand up Mickey’s chest. “Love you, too,” he muttered, only half awake.

Mickey put the bottle down with a thud and covered his face with his hand. He was supposed to be _asleep_. This wasn’t right - Ian wasn’t supposed to _know_. People can hurt you when they _know_.

Ian tightened his grip around Mickey. “I won’t go. I love you. Idiot.”

Mickey had to choke back a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and wound their fingers together before settling back down to fall back to sleep. “You better fucking remember this in the morning,” he mumbled.

**Author's Note:**

> There are something things in this story that I fully admit to not knowing much about. If I ever make mistakes about mental illness, the American health and school systems, American health codes, (American anything), the geography of Chicago, crime, gangs, sex work and sex workers, or even details from the show, please let me know! The title is part of a line taken from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg.


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